Battlestar Galactica: Otalagim Virtual Season 3, Episode 14 By Senmut October 29, 2012 Prologue "And now, it is my pleasure," said Commander Adama, at the podium in the Great Hall of the Battlestar Galactica, "to declare our two newest combat vessels, the Constellation, and the Adelaide, to be hereby placed in commission, and on active duty in the Colonial Military." He turned, and gestured to Colonel Tigh, who stepped forward, and handed to Kevin J. Byrne, skipper of the Constellation, a small box, containing the data chip comprising the ship's "papers". He then did the same to Cedric Allen, Captain of the Adelaide. Along with each went an old-fashioned scroll, signed by the Commander, as C-in-C of the Armed Forces, declaring to one and all that the two new ships were now officially part of the Colonial Fleet. Both vessels, once well-armed pirate freighters of considerable size, had been converted into warships since their "acquisition" from a vicious, slimy, now-deceased, Zykonian crime lord. "Wow," said Byrne, at the mic. "What can I say? I mean, this sure is a long way from home! They'd never believe this back in Waterville!" Next to him, Allen laughed. "Or Adelaide for that matter, I expect." After a few more comments, it was Allen's turn, with longing references to his homeland of Australia. It was more speeches and acknowledgements, followed by questions from the "press". Then came the festivities. Warriors of many ranks and stations, along with Council members and various civilian luminaries, mingled together, offering the new ship masters congratulations, and good wishes for the future. Byrne had to admit, he felt a glow inside, one not dimmed a bit by a view of his daughter, Genesis, with the young Councilor, Sire Pelias. She looked radiant in her white and blue gown, shimmering in the lights beaming down upon her, and he was once again struck by the resemblance to her late mother. The two had been an "item" for a few sectons, now, but had so far mercifully avoided the scanners of the IFB. Long may that last, he wished silently, as he caught the eye of Lauren Wagner, like himself, another refugee from Earth, misplaced among the trackless wastes of the galaxy, thanks to some long-dead alien captors, and rescued by the Colonials. Formerly of the Cascade County Montana Sheriff's Department, as well as a Staff Sergeant in the Montana Air National Guard, she was, now, resuscitated, medically cleared, and fully informed, the newly-minted Master-at-Arms for the Constellation, the ship commanded by Byrne. As always correct and in her recently duplicated uniform, she was sipping something non-alcoholic, standing next to Athena at the buffet table. And she was glad to be back in what she felt was her "proper" uniform, that of the United States Air Force: a tailor on the Rising Star who had made Captain Byrne's and Commander Allen's U.S. Navy and Royal Australian Navy uniforms had done the same for her: For two bottles of Zykonian Langulin from the stock that the late Krylon had left aboard the Constellation, plus a few cubits earned in a pyramid game with Starbuck and Chameleon, he'd not only made Wagner a couple of dress uniforms, made to her specifications, but some undress blues for day-to-day shipboard wear, and even some civilian clothes. "Congratulations," said Athena, as he drew even with them. "Thanks, Athena. I must say, this is quite an unexpected turn of events." "Same for me," said Wagner. "Montana to alien popsicle to here, all in one throw. I'm still trying to make sense of it all." They chatted for a bit, Athena wanting to know about the mysterious land of Montana, and Wagner's combination of jobs, and Byrne chuckled. He and Wagner had to explain how one could have a full-time civilian job-as she did, and at the same time be a member of a reserve military unit. Given their long war with Cylon, the Colonial military had become somewhat differently structured, as one could appreciate. Byrne chuckled and looked at his watch. He wasn't due aboard, to officially take command of the Constellation for her first official cruise, for another few centars, and the techs were still finishing up last-centon tasks to her systems. He still had time to relax a bit, and... "Yes, mining," he replied, at a question from Sheba, who had sauntered up, and joined her sister-in-law at the table. "Montana was largely built on mining and ranching." "And it joined the Union, back in 1889. Our State Motto is Oro y Plata. 'Gold and Silver'. "A lot of wealth, then," ventured Sheba. "Mineral wealth." "Oh yes, enormous mineral wealth," went on Wagner, and Byrne turned, as some unexpected words and music wafted across the room. When the sun goes down, Take me straight to baby, When the lights start lightin' the town, There's only one place for me. "Well," he said to himself, a bit surprised. There, up on stage, was Kalysha, the stunning wife of his old friend Allen. A native of a world called Harkaelis, she stood before a microphone, dressed in an off-the-right-shoulder gown of shimmering black, with a jeweled belt, and was belting out a song with gusto. Kevin had forgotten that Kalysha had, in her time, worked as a singer, and her smokey voice was a treat to hear. Behind and to one side of her, he could see Allen, strumming an instrument. "I didn't know she was going to do anything," said Wagner. "Certainly not perform." "Neither did I," said Byrne. "Commander Adama told me that there are sometimes entertainments at such an event, but I didn't know..." "I think it's great," said Athena. "Something from other worlds." "What a voice," said Sheba, with obvious admiration. "Yeah. She's got a good one," said Byrne. Looking about, he could see that he wasn't the only one taken with the performance. For her part, Kalysha was looking over at her husband, the look in her alien eyes readable even across the room. When the neon winks, I go straight to baby. When the beat starts rockin' the town, I long for his company. I'm feelin' good, As soon as he says hel-lo. And when he starts in lookin' at me, Just so, I glow. Now the sun is down, And I'm here with baby, When the lights start lightin' the town, This is the place for me. For his part, Allen had the most stupidly love-struck look on his face, staring back at Kalysha. Byrne tried not to laugh. He turned, as Adama came up behind him. "So, how does it feel? Having a commissioned ship under your hand once more?" "Great, sir," replied Byrne. "We all have to do our part, and I owe you people...well. It's a duty I'm glad to undertake, Commander." "In one's reaction to duty, in honor seen," said a voice. Turning, they saw Sargamesh, drink in hand, behind Adama. His dress uniform, aside from the usual Colonial trimmings, sported a colored sash across the chest, with dagger mounted therein, and various awards along it's length. "A proverb?" asked Sheba. "Yes. Trelak of Adag, to be precise. One of our most revered sages. Sadly, a trifle out of fashion, these days." "Old school?" asked Apollo, suddenly at his wife's side. "Very. But just because something is old, does not drain it of value." He sipped his drink, then raised his glass. "My congratulations, Captain Byrne. Your own ship." "When must you report aboard?" asked Korl, another of the Zohrloch refugees. "0800, tomorrow morning, and I'll need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed." Everyone frowned, confused by the "Earthism". He looked around. "So, Commander, if you'll excuse me, I need to get these old bones some shut-eye. Now where is that daughter of...ahh!" A loud cackle of laughter grabbed his attention, drawing his eye to an old crone with wild, white hair sticking out in every direction. Clothed in a shapeless robe, resembling some kind of animal skin, she definitely stood out like a sore thumb in this gathering of the well-dressed and respectable. How did she even get in? Then the niggling memory of far-fetched tales of some mystical Wise Woman from the Malocchio Freighter came to mind. He shook his head in wonder, sure until now that she had been a figment of someone's fervent imagination. He had the strangest idea that this was she. She stepped aside, cackling again, only to reveal Genesis, resplendent in a white and blue gown. Boxey was next to her, seemingly deep in conversation. Byrne smiled. The unlikely threesome seemed to be getting along like a house on fire. He didn't know whether to be impressed or concerned. On that note, suddenly the old crone looked over at him, and smiled a gapped-tooth grin, as though she could read his very mind. Then she nodded at him, as if to confirm the same. I'm feelin' good, As soon as he says hel-lo. And when he starts in lookin' at me, Just so, I glow. Now the sun is down, And I'm here with baby, When the lights start lightin' the town, This is the place for me. Chapter One "We are approaching the terminus of Sector Delta," announced Flight Leader Arcadius, over the circuit. "All scanners remain clear." "Acknowledged, Flight Leader," replied Flight Sergeant Jacobi, from his Viper. "Looks like it's time to turn around, and head for home." "Agreed. We are at the limit of our assigned patrol area," replied the Centurion. It had been an uneventful patrol, pairing Flight Sergeant Jacobi, who had gotten his baptism of fire in the attack on Lucifer's BaseShip, with a Raider manned by Flight Leader Arcadius and his crew. Jacobi, originally assigned to Galactica's Green Squadron upon qualifying, shortly before the encounter with the mega-star, had, after the refitting and commissioning of the Constellation as a Fleet warship, been transferred to that ship's newly activated Katana Squadron. Moving out ahead of the Fleet as part of a screening pattern, her Vipers extended the Fleet's eyes, giving Commander Adama an extra head's up, in the event of trouble. On this patrol, Jacobi had been paired with Arcadius, a veteran of several Viper-Raider patrols, since the beginning of the d‚tente with Baltar's ship of renegade Cylons. Arcadius had proved, by Cylon standards, to be "chatty", as Captain Byrne of the Constellation had put it. Which is to say, according to the Viper's flight recorder, he had spoken twenty-one more words, than the average Cylon uttered. Jacobi smiled; it sure beat the usual. Interestingly, Arcadius seemed curious, if that was the right word to use, regarding a Cylon of his class, about the Fleet's ultimate goal. Where, exactly, was this Earth, and how did it figure in to the whole Colonial cultural mix? Why seek for it? And, after all that, how... Beep. "Got a contact," said Jacobi, eyes on his scanner. "At extreme range." "Confirmed," replied Arcadius. "We are also reading a contact." There was a long silence. "It appears metallic. No further data available at this range." "Maybe we should have a look," said Jacobi. "A word of caution," replied one of Arcadius' crew. "We are within two points of fuel limit, for return to the Fleet. Any further penetration of this sector will compromise our ability to return to the Fleet." "Understood," agreed Jacobi, shaking his head at the Cylon tendency to always repeat the obvious. "Let's try and get all the data we can, then it's back to base." "By your com..." The Cylon's reply was suddenly swamped by a huge crash of static, as well as several of the Viper's instruments. Massive amounts of EM energy, mostly in the radio band, had suddenly erupted about them. The Viper's engines sputtered for a few microns, then Jacobi forgot about them, as from out of the blackness, a vast smear of light appeared directly ahead of him. It slowed, as it took on solidity. A ship, dropping out of lightspeed. A huge one. Who... "HOLY FRACK!" screamed Jacobi. He punched the auto-distress to the Fleet. "What have we got?" asked Byrne, in the Combat Information Center, aboard the Constellation. This area, once an extra storage compartment (where Krylon had kept much of his rare and expensive liquors), had been fitted out with repeater arrays and computer tie-ins, giving them, in the event of combat operations, or damage topside, essentially a second bridge. Byrne, once the CAG aboard the American Aircraft carrier U.S.S. Constellation, back on Earth, had been down here in the CIC, running combat drills with his new crew, when the alarm had come in. Having come aboard at 0800 centars, Byrne had headed out at 1200 precisely. It was now 1635. "An alert signal from Jacobi's patrol, sir," said Captain Dante, at the tactical board. "They aren't due back for...sixty-four centons." "Emergency distress," said Byrne. "Anything else?" He looked from Dante to Ensign Zaz, at comm. "Something coming in, Captain. Not sure what..." "Put it up." She did so, and the speaker frothed with static. "...own vessel, in sect...come after...tali...I rep...talig...God, don't come aft..." Then it was gone. "Signal lost, sir," said Zaz. "Reacquire, Ensign." "Not possible, sir. Jacobi has stopped transmitting. The Viper's auto-channel is dead, too." "Keep trying." Byrne looked to Dante. "Well?" "We're too far to get anything but fuzz in that direction on our scanners, sir. We're not even picking up the patrol craft." "Damn." Byrne grabbed a telecom. "Engineering..." "Sir!" said Dante. "Craft now entering our scanner range. On a direct intersect course." "Identity?" "Cylon, sir," replied Dante, after a moment. "It's the Raider." "The...and the Viper?" "No sign of the Viper yet, sir. No sign on the scanners, and her channel's dead." "Go to Red Alert!" said Byrne. "Zaz, try and raise the Cylon ship. Helm, move to intercept. Then get me Commander Adama." "Sir." First day! Go figure! "General Quarters, repeat, general quarters," Byrne spoke into the intercraft. The klaxon sounded, and throughout the ship, crew rushed to their stations. "Pilots, man your Vipers. All hands to Battle Stations. This is no drill. Repeat, this is no drill." Chapter Two "And?" asked Adama, of Byrne, over the Fleet Comm-Line. "The Raider is not responding to hails," said Byrne. "And her speed is well below normal. We're moving to rendezvous, and we'll be recovering her in nineteen min...centons, at her present speed, Commander." "But still no sign of the Viper?" "None, Commander. I have scanners at full power, sweeping the area continuously, and we are continuing to hail the Viper. No response." "Continue sweeps and hails for the present. Notify me at once when the Raider lands." "Yes, sir." The communication ended. "The Cylon is heading back, but no Viper?" said Tigh. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that, Commander." "Nor I, but until we know more, we must wait." "Are you going to inform Baltar, sir?" asked the Galactica's XO. It was plain from his voice that Tigh was looking forward to communicating with Baltar with all the enthusiasm of a trip to the dentist. But, communication with the one-time traitor of Humanity, now their ersatz ally, was vital, if this d‚tente with the Cylons was to continue. "As soon as we know something substantive, Colonel. Until then...we wait." "Yes, Commander." The Constellation was, in Earth-style measurements, one-thousand and twenty-five feet, seven and one half inches long, had a beam of one-hundred- ninety-four feet four inches, and was one-eighty and some change from "keel" to top of her superstructure. Fitted with two massive powerplants fueled by anti-matter, she was capable of matching the Galactica in speed over long distances, and was surprisingly maneuverable in tactical exercises, with her response time at sub-light velocities almost a quarter second quicker than the Battlestar. Built originally for clandestine cargo hauling in rough territory, she had a surprisingly sturdy hull, excellent deflector and scanning systems, and had been mounted with twelve defensive guns, of respectable output. When the decision had been made to convert her into a warship, the work had not been as difficult as had been first surmised. She had originally been built by the now-defunct Bosaq Empire, as part of their Merchant Marine fleet, and as with all government-owned vessels, her designers had built her to make conversion to full military specs simpler. Thus, switching over a lot of her features had been almost too easy. Topside, where once were massive hatch covers atop her cargo modules, she now sported an armored flight deck, launch tubes on either side. Where previously valuable, and usually illegal, cargoes had once rested, a huge hangar deck, replete with repair facilities and crew billets, now filled the space. The Constellation boasted two squadrons, each of nine Vipers, with a tenth ship for the respective leaders, Claymore, and Katana Squadrons. Her original compliment of guns had been augmented by laser turrets salvaged from the debris of the destroyed BaseShip, giving her double her original number of batteries. Recycled metal from Lucifer's ship was also being put to good use. Her shuttles, also acquired from the dead Zykonian and his equally dead crime operation, were likewise being refitted to Colonial specifications. While still incomplete, the conversion had been far enough along for Adama to give Byrne leave to take her out, on her first mission as a Colonial warship. Techs and other workers were still aboard, finishing up everything from the lifts, to the recyclers, to the Sickbay, to the galley. There were also, somewhat to Byrne's annoyance, civilians billeted aboard, most of them not workers, or families of the crew. While he had, admittedly, somewhat old-fashioned views about such things, he understood that much of it stemmed from the Colonial's current predicament. No matter how you sliced it, there just wasn't enough space, following the scuttling of the Spica, for everyone, to the extent that military vessels could ignore the housing needs of the people. Even with the addition of some new ships, following both Ki, and the layovers at Brylon and RB-33, things were just too damned cramped, and when the Council had ruled that the Human warships, even the Galactica, find room for at least some people, he had complied. He was, after all, from a long tradition of civilian control of the military. An Act of Congress was an (%$!>"<*&#@+) Act of Congress. "Status?" he asked. "Cylon craft will be within visual range in nine centons," said Dante. "Still no response to hails, sir." "Visual signals. See if they respond." "Cylon craft slowing, sir," said Esteban, the scan officer. "Lining up. She looks to be running on one engine, sir." "One engine?" "Yes, sir." Esteban studied his screen a bit more. "Her port power plant is off-line." "Alright. Tell the landing bay to stand by to recover the fighter. Crash procedures." "Sir." "I'll be in the landing bay. Dante, you're with me." "Sir." "Esteban, you have the conn." "My God," said Adama, later, in the Ward Room, aboard the Galactica, as the flight data was later replayed, and Flight Leader Arcadius and his crew were debriefed. "What is it?" "Unknown," replied Arcadius, assuming the question was for him. "Nothing in our data banks matches this vessel." "It's enormous," said Tigh, of the image floating above the holoreader. "It must be...ten times the size of the Galactica." "More," said Byrne. The object, ship, whatever it was, had appeared almost on top of the patrol craft, in a wash of light and energy as it dropped out of lightspeed. It was vast, but with no seemingly coherent design. Sections seemed to extend in all directions, some blocky and square, others smooth and bulbous. Each part of the ugly behemoth seemed to be of a slightly different color, as if no one single material had been used in her building. Adama could not help but squirm, and looked over at Apollo. His son shook his head. The Cylon pilots reported that, almost at once, circuits inside their ship had begun popping, breakers kicking out. It had been the same aboard the Viper. Her engines had sputtered, then quit, as had one of the Raider's engines. Communications had begun to break up, but the Raider had recorded some of Jacobi' transmissions. "...losing power. All my engines are gone. Life support is failing. If you can hear me, Constellation, we have encountered an unknown vessel in Sector Delta. Enormous size. She's..." The signal had broken up for a few moments, and even the best efforts at enhancement could do nothing. "...my God! Don't come after me! Lords of Kobol, Otaligim! Where did they come from? I repeat, the Otaligim! For the love of God, don't come after us! Save yourse..." The final words were a scream, then, they stopped, as did all transmissions from the Viper. On the screen, in images captured by the Cylon ship, the Viper was being slowly pulled towards the alien machine. A huge port was opening up, like a leaf shutter, and the fighter was sucked inside, until it vanished entirely. Then, slowly, the port closed, and Jacobi was gone. "How did you escape?" asked Baltar, on link-up from his ship. As always, the one-time traitor stayed within the confines of his own ship, participating only by vid-com. Even though sectars had passed since the beginning of the detente, Baltar was still aware of how the fragile nature of the "truce" could be disrupted by his presence in any other ship of the Fleet. Inside his BaseShip, where he was only seen by those who had to contact him for official business, his profile was at its lowest since arriving among the people of the Fleet. "We attempted to fire, but our weapons did not function," replied Ophicon, one of the other crew. Adama looked to Byrne. It was true. The entire power system for the Raider's fire control had fried. Completely burned out. Several other instruments in the cockpit were also seriously damaged. "All attempts to restore power to weapons were unsuccessful." "But how did you make it back?" Baltar pressed. "We turned around, and began our return to the ship," said Ophicon. "The intruder vessel did not attempt to pursue." "Any ideas why?" asked Adama. "Unknown," replied the Cylon. "We had only one engine operational. At reduced speed, we could have easily been overtaken." "Well, let us be thankful you were not," said Baltar. "Report back to the ship for diagnostics and maintenance, when debriefing is complete," ordered Command Centurion Moray, followed by a round of "By your command"s. "Are you certain?" asked Adama, later in his quarters, of Apollo and Sheba. "Absolutely, Commander," said Sheba. "That looks nothing like Iblis' ship. The proportions were totally different." "No similarity whatsoever, then," the Commander pressed, not wanting there to be the slightest room for doubt. "Well, there is a basic similarity in that this ship looks like it was slapped together from different types of ships, and that was true of the Derelict," Apollo acknowledged, "But that's where the similarity ends. Iblis would have had to enslave a thousand different ships in a yahren's time to change the proportions that drastically from the ship we encountered. Obviously, with Iblis that's not completely out of the realm of possibility, but we're talking about the lowest level I can imagine." "All right then, we'll dispense with that scenario entirely for now." Adama wished the certainty could have been one hundred percent, but he knew that sound command decisions couldn't rest on a miniscule probability factor. "What do you know about Flight Sergeant Jacobi?" the Commander asked. "Not much, outside of training," said Apollo. "Sheba was his usual instructor." He looked to his wife. "A good student," said Sheba. "Excellent marks, no disciplinary problems, no conflicts with the other trainees or pilots. He graduated second in a class of six." "What was that word he spoke?" asked Adama. "Otaligim? I'm not familiar with it." Neither was anyone else, but Komma, as usual, came through with the answer, mining every databank in the Fleet, until he found it. "It's non-Colonial, sir," he reported to the Commander, later. "In fact, it's Abelasotian." "It's what?" "Abelasotian, sir. It's an alien language, used only by a small group of people from Taura." "Alien language?" asked Byrne, here with them. "As in non-Human?" "Yes, sir. There isn't a lot on it, but about four-hundred and fifty yahrens ago, some small alien craft crossed the Colonial Frontier." He put up a holographic, of a small ship of unfamiliar design. "They were filled with refugees, Humanlike beings who called themselves Abelasotians. According to the data, they had fled across space from the destruction of their world, and ended up in the Colonies. They were allowed to settle, and were genetically quite similar, and in time they assimilated into Colonial society." "And this Jacobi was one of these Abelasotians?" asked Byrne. "Yes. Quite a few have served in the military, and many still speak their ancestral language. The word Jacobi spoke was of Abelasotian origin, sir." "What does it mean?" asked Sheba. "Otaligim-The Great Unknown." Chapter Three While analyses of the damaged Cylon craft, as well as the flight data, continued, Adama pondered the situation. A massive vessel of unknown origin suddenly appears, and swallows a Viper. Although badly damaged, the Cylon craft escaped. While he could not entirely dismiss the possibility, he doubted that this was some sort of Cylon trick. No matter how much residual distaste he felt about Baltar, he knew that the one-time traitor simply wasn't capable of dreaming up anything like that when the detente was something still in his interest at this point. If it was in fact Cylon, then something associated with the Empire Baltar had defected from was more likely. But if so, then to what end would such a scheme be hatched? Through what data they could extract from the scans, the intruder ship showed no affinity whatsoever with any sort of known Cylon metallurgy, engineering parameters, or hyperdrive signatures, past or present. Nor was it likely to be Iblis' ship, the horrifying Derelict. While doubtless the evil Count had more than one such ship traversing the cosmos, Adama agreed with his son and daughter-in-law. Iblis was unlikely to use the Derelict again, in any of his convoluted schemes directed at the Colonials. He had failed there, and while he was undeniably evil, he wasn't stupid. Add to that the fact that this ship was most decidedly not derelict, but manifestly under both power and direction. It had come directly towards Jacobi's Viper, then taken it aboard by way of some sort of towing beam. Again, totally unlike Iblis. What, then? If it was that huge, and could swallow a fighter, then what chance did... Beep. "Adama here." "Sir, Ensign Kyna and Centurion Confectus are returning from patrol," reported Tigh from the Bridge. "They report disturbing developments." "On my way, Colonel." "My God," whispered Tigh, as the data was replayed at the debriefing. "This was where?" "Right on the edge of Sigma Sector, Colonel," reported Kyna, indicating the area on the plotting board. "But Centurion Confectus actually detected it, first." "Centurion?" prompted Adama. "By your command," replied the Cylon. Adama was uncertain if this were the Raider's command pilot, or one of the others. "We were flying seven point six four eight maxims ahead of the Viper, and our scanners detected anomalous energy signatures emanating from a small planetary system to our starboard." Confectus went on to relate how the system, consisting of four planets circling a binary yellow sun, sported significant biosigns from the third only. There were also indications of artificial power generation, and some form of crude radio communications had been picked up. Kyna had agreed, and they moved to investigate the newly-discovered world. And found carnage, instead. Where once there had presumably been a lush world with wide forests and numerous cities, their scanners now showed burning ruins, with huge areas of ground cover...missing. "Missing?" asked Adama. He looked at the images again. "Yes, Commander," replied Confectus. "Large regions of the planet's surface appear to have been removed." "This is incredible," said Adama. Incredible but true. According to the analysis of the data, enormous swaths of botanical life, some as large as one of Caprica's larger islands, had been ripped out, by the roots, and...removed. Like hair being torn out, everything from temperate forests to steaming tropical jungles had been savaged, scooped away leaving gargantuan scars, some already filling with water, deep into the rock and soil. Even some coastal regions had been virtually shorn of aquatic life. But whomever it had been had not apparently been content to just steal life forms. Huge areas of the unfortunate world were covered in a heavy pall of smoke and toxic debris, rising from the remains of once-great cities, each and every one of them blasted into oblivion. The miasma was also rife with radion, making it even clearer, if any further clarity were needed, that this had been no natural disaster. "They were struck from orbit," Kyna said. "Must have been." "Analysis of the scans indicates that anti-matter detonations occurred," said Wilker, across the table from Adama. "How long ago?" asked Tigh. "Within a maximum of two sectons," said Moray, from the BaseShip. "Our analysis confirms your own. This planet was attacked." "But by whom?" asked Adama. "Analysis indicates an eighty-four point zero six percent probability that the attackers are the same as the captors of the Viper craft," intoned Moray. There was a momentary silence, and Adama indicated for the Cylon to continue. "A vessel of unknown origin and great power appears. Nearby, an entire world is laid waste, within a time frame that is too close for what Humans refer to as coincidence. No statistical model supports coincidence. Based upon our current knowledge, they are the only unknown variable in this region of space, and their hostility had been demonstrated." "I think he's right," said Adama. "Thank you," replied the Cylon. At his request, Byrne was assigned to take the Constellation, and more completely survey the devastated solar system. Each of the sectors ahead would be scanned by one of the Fleet's secondary warships, the Century, and the Adelaide, or their respective patrols. Hopefully, the Fleet would not need to deviate around the region in front of them. "She's got the equivalent to a Class Four Stardrive," said Max, the Adelaide's Chief Engineer. "We can make tracks fast if we have to, Commander." "I hope so," said Adama. "I have no wish to lose anyone else, Engineer." Adama watched as first the Constellation, then the Century, followed by the Adelaide, moved out. The way the new ships looked, as they made the transition to lightspeed, was still a bit unsettling. Whereas the Galactica, the BaseShip, and most other vessels of his experience seemed to brighten, then smear into infinity, these ships stretched into a rainbow effect, before tearing their way into the translight realm. Doctor Wilker had explained the different ways that the different propulsion systems operated, each achieving the same results via different physics. Adama had to admit that after a while, somewhere between intermix formulae and quantum barriers, he'd found himself lost in all the techno-babble, of which the scientist was so fond. "As long as it works," he'd said at last, as Wilker, Rigel, Komma, and now Korl, got into it, giving him the feeling of being back at the Academy, stuck in a lecture on propulsion theory. And work it seemed to, even if it didn't require huge amounts of tylium to do it. He shook his head, and then watched as the BaseShip also moved out, her assignment to scout the Fleet's "six", as Byrne called it, probing in a long arc, to make sure they weren't caught by surprise that way. While the patrols were under way, the Battlestar herself was stopped, orbiting a small, uninhabitable world, surrounded by a stunning set of rings. Here, she would guard her charges, should it be needful, while also mining the mineral-rich rubble that made up the ring plane. Scans had shown it to be rotten with tylium, auric, cobalt, cupric, and zinc, as well as water ice. All materials the Fleet could seriously use. Adama just hoped, as he watched the mining shuttles depart for the rings, that who or whatever it was that had swallowed Jacobi' ship, was just transiting this area, and that they would never meet. "Status?" asked Allen, on the bridge of the Adelaide, the equivalent of thirty minutes out from the Fleet. "All systems at optimum, Captain," said Ambrosius, the helmsman. "All scanners clear of anything untoward." "With x-ray eyes like this, they'd have to be up at a sparrow's fart to put one over on us, eh mate? Put our tactical plot up on the screen," Allen ordered. At once the forward screen changed from streaking stars, to a computer-generated map of the region, as it was known so far. From the flashing dots, they could see the positions of the Century, the Constellation, and the Fleet. The BaseShip was too far off the grid, at this range. Smaller dots showed the positions of the various fighter craft out on patrol. Allen studied it for a while, and hoped. Hoped that maybe, whoever they had been, were off like a pair of rotten socks and that the Fleet had dodged the bullet on this one. He silently crossed his fingers. The solar system was free of any sort of vessel traffic, and the scanners were clear, as the Constellation slipped into orbit around the devastated planet. Upon closer examination, it only confirmed what Kyna and Confectus had reported. Whoever had visited here had gone to enormous lengths to wipe out every vestige of life on the planet below. Even as they watched, whole biomes were dying, fires raging across grassland and forest, radioactive garbage raining down. Obviously, if any sentient beings remained below, they had little time, and initial computron projections estimated that it would take at least a hundred yahrens, all things being equal, before the planet could be considered, more or less, as it had been. "We estimate an early Sixth Millenium level civilization, Captain," reported Dante. Byrne had to think a moment, translating the Colonialese. He looked at the scans, showing huge cities of glass and steel, with large airports, and an extensive system of roads. From the fact that no artificial satellites had been detected, and that what radio and video traffic had been picked up was mostly low-power Amplitude Modulation, he estimated that the culture below had been about on par with the mid-1950s US or Europe, or so, in Earth terms. The best estimate they could come up with was a total population of somewhere between one and one and a half billion inhabitants, before this holocaust. "Are there any regions unaffected as yet?" he asked. "A few, sir," said Esteban. He brought up a surface scan, at last settling on one spot. It was a mountainous area, with large valleys protected, so far, from most of what had happened. "Picking up a small concentration of life forms, there." "People?" "Looks that way." He zoomed in, giving the image a resolution unimaginable back home. A cluster of buildings was surrounded by what looked like ground vehicles, with figures moving about. "They scan out as Humanoid, sir, like what we saw on the vids. But the instability in the planet's magnetic field caused by all the detonations makes precise data impossible at our present altitude." "I see," said Byrne. He was silent a few moments, raping his knuckles on the edge of his chair. "Okay, let's go have a look." "You propose to go down, Captain?" asked Dante. "We need information. Those folks down there might know something we need to. I..." He stopped, as an alarm went off. Something had struck the ship's forward shield. "Report!" ordered Byrne, slipping into his command chair. "Are we under attack?" he asked Haals, the weapon's officer. "No, sir," said Esteban, at scan, his face frowning. "We've been hit by..." It sat. Waiting. It had fed. It had defended. But it must also conceal. This was the time of maximum vulnerability. The Budding was close. Nothing must be allowed to endanger it, during this time. It sat. Waiting. It had fed. It had... "A tree?" Yes, it had been a tree. A big one. Over thirty feet long, and eerily resembling an oak. Low orbit had been littered with such things. Dirt. Rocks. Bodies. Organic debris of all sorts. Dante theorized that when the... whatever it was, had scooped up huge swaths of material, some had fallen back, like dirt from the bucket of a steam shovel. Most to impact the surface, some to linger in a low, decaying orbit for a time. "No question, sir," said Dante. "This tree was violently wrenched out of the ground." "Like we'd yank a weed out of the garden," said Byrne. "Basically, sir. Given the amount of material taken from below..." He shook his head. "I don't even want to think about it." "We'd better. If whoever has that kind of power finds the Fleet..." "Yes, sir." "Okay, you have the bridge, Dante. Have shuttle Grissom prepped, and tell Mister Darius to meet me in the launch bay. And try and send everything we have so far to Commander Adama." "Sir." "Something, sir," said Keel, at the scan station, aboard the Adeleaide. "What?" "A contact, sir. Possibly a vessel." "Possibly? 'Possibly' is about as useful as mud flaps on a speedboat, Keel. Give me some data." "It's the best we can do, sir," said Keel, after some adjustments to the equipment. "It's at extreme range." "Anything more positive?" "No, sir. We're barely getting this." "Well, it's better than a poke in the eye with a burnt stick. How long until the patrol lands?" asked Allen, watching the uninteresting planet below them spin. "Forty-five centons, sir," replied Vickers, the XO. "They should be back in voice communications range in twenty." "Okay. Well, as much as I'd love to stay and count our brain cells one by one, we'd best prepare to move out. Once we've got the patrol aboard, we'll be off like a bride's nightie." "Uh, sir?" Sigh "We'll go and have ourselves a look." "Yes, sir." Chapter Four The decent into the planet's atmosphere was like heading downwards into hell, in the shuttle Grissom. Layers of toxic smoke, carried by a powerful jet stream, roiled above vast areas of seething fire. Every city they passed over or near had been turned to a twisted, burned-out inferno, rivers of molten glass and steel flowing in what had once been streets, filling every depression. Countless charred corpses littered the blast zone peripheries, and there were no immediate signs that anyone had escaped. Everywhere, the residual radion was high. Obviously, the bombs used had been "dirty" ones. Byrne's co-pilot said it looked worse than the Colonies, during the evacuation. "How are we doing, shieldwise?" asked Byrne, in Grissom's pilot's seat. "All within parameters," replied Darius, next to him. "No danger to us." "Good," replied Byrne, as they left the last smoldering city behind them, heading out across open country. Once certified for flight status, Byrne rarely missed a chance to get his hand around a control stick. It had been a beautiful planet, he decided, as they flew over what had once, seemingly, been rich, productive farmland. Alot like Earth, with wide oceans, and fleecy white clouds draping continents covered in lush greens, and golden browns. Once. Now, parts of it looked like a side tunnel in Hades Hole, reduced to endless square miles of charred death and destruction. He wondered, fleetingly, what Earth looked like, now, after so many years. "Excuse me, sir, but...Grissom?" "Huh? Oh, the shuttle. Well, they needed names, and Grissom was an early space pioneer, back on Earth. A few year...yahrens before I was born, he was killed in an accident, during a ground test of a new spacecraft." "I see. Huh. That's a new one. We don't give shuttles names, in the Colonial military. Just numbers." "I noticed. Well, just consider it a new tradition, compliments of your Earth relatives." "Yes, sir. And the rest? From Earth, also?" "Yup. Glenn. Armstrong, and..." "Picking up some kind of signal," said Darius, suddenly back to business. "Identity?" He waited while the computer chewed the data. "Looks like an old-fashioned homing beacon, sir. Like a directional aid. Amplitude Modulation. On a gamma channel." "Yeah," he said, as the scanner bleeped. Crossing their path diagonally, about a hundred miles or so ahead, was a craft, with, said the scanners, Humanlike beings aboard. Airborne, and under power. Byrne eased the stick over a bit, and began to follow whoever it was, edging speed up a bit. Maybe, now, they would get some answers. "Well?" asked Allen, after the Adelaide had dropped out of lightspeed, on the edge of the next solar system. It was small, with only two planet-sized bodies, some small moons, and encircled by a belt of icy, cometary debris about twenty degrees off the plane of the ecliptic. He listened as the scan results were read off, and a tactical plot of the system was generated, and put up on the screen. "Contact, sir," said Keel. "Definitely a vessel." "Location?" "On the far side of the system from us. Looks like she's concealed in the asteroid belt." "Under power?" "Can't tell as this distance, sir. The sun's directly in the way, and there's some kind of interference across the wavebands. Cometary ionization, it looks like." "Try and clear her up, Keel." Allen turned to the Vickers. "Try and make signal to the Galactica. Inform Commander Adama of our progress, and append my log entries." "Right away, Captain." "Captain," said Darius, aboard the Grissom. "We're being scanned." "Scanned?" replied Byrne, all attention. "Yes, sir. Looks to be coming from the aircraft, ahead." "So, she's got radar," said Byrne, half to himself. "Activate our ECM." "ECM activated. As a scanner, it's crude, though," continued Darius. "It's using long wavelengths, and some sort of conical scan setup. Monopulse. Very archaic. We'll have no trouble evading it, Captain." "Good to hear, Darius. But if they've already seen us, then closing the barn door doesn't help much." Darius just shook his head. Earthisms! After a few moments, they came to an area of gently-rising hills, which turned into a huge, snow-capped mountain range. After cresting the peaks, they saw a wide valley, almost a prairie, rolling away into the distance before them. To Byrne, it was reminiscent of the terrain around Cheyenne Mountain, and NORAD. "Picking up life readings, Captain. About a hundred kilometrons ahead. Infrared signatures, too. Looks like some kind of encampment." "Steady as she goes," said Byrne. Solar flare activity had made scanning the mysterious contact difficult, so Allen moved the Adelaide out of the sun's direct line, while keeping to the asteroid field. But, scan as they liked, they could still glean little about the mysterious object. Deciding that counting even more brain cells wasn't going to get them anywhere, he ordered the launch of a small probe. "About as useful as a screen door on a submarine, sittin' here. ETA on the probe?" he asked, as the probe sped away from the ship. "Just under eighty centons, sir." "Right-o, Mate." He got up, and cracked his back. "Speakin' of probes, I'll be below decks fer a bit. That thing so much as farts too loud, call me." "Sir." Keel watched his skipper depart, then looked to one of his crewmates. "Farts too loud?" "Ya got me," replied Ambrosius, with a shrug. "It looks like a lodge, or a ski resort," said Byrne, as the destination of the native air vehicle came into view. In a fairly narrow valley, close to a lake, was a cluster of buildings, of outwardly rustic construction, about two thousand feet below. "A what?" asked Darius. "A retreat. Like a hotel or such, in a rural, country setting," replied Byrne. "Kind of like Yellowstone. Keep an eye out for pic-a-nic basket stealin' bears." More blank faces. "Later." On a wide field, not far from the lodge area, were several old-fashioned aircraft, lined up next to an unpaved airstrip. Of the small, one or two engine vehicles, all but one looked to be propeller-driven, and from the debris, one had cracked up on landing. Another was a primitive form of jet, twin-engine, her engine nacelles still showing residual heat, and her lines were unmistakably military. For a moment, Byrne smiled, having had an avid interest in old airplanes from early on. Nearby were also a large number of wheeled vehicles, and a goodly number of people milling about. And all looking in their direction. "We've been seen," said Darius, pointing. "It was unavoidable," said Byrne, circling a bit lower. "Let's just hope they don't think we're the ones responsible for all this," said Darius. "After all, I'm wagering from those primitive airships that these folks have never had any outside contact." "Looks that way," replied Byrne. "Either way, we'll know soon enough." The shuttle circled around the buildings, scanning the place fully. Then, Byrne set her down on the crude runway, a dozen yards or so from the water's edge. Looking out the ports, they could see that they had a captive audience now. "Here's where we try and act like diplomats." Diplomat? Me? Did I say that? I can practically hear Mom laughing all the way from home. He un-strapped himself, and pushed back. "How's the air read?" "Minimal radion, here, sir. Atmosphere's alot like Caprica, actually." "Then we won't need the suits?" "No, sir. Not at present." "Good." "But there looks to be a storm front moving in. Snow and cold. The temperature is just above freezing, now, and falling. We'll need the parkas." "Right." Standing up, he motioned to the team he'd brought with them. MedTech Garcia, transferred from the Galactica for this cruise, and three beefy Security guys. Byrne hoped they wouldn't be needed, but caution was never a bad idea. He issued sidearms to everyone, and moved to the hatch. "Everyone got your universal translators?" Silence. "Languatrons?" "On and ready, Captain," said Garcia, patting his. "Ready," said Darius. The guards replied the same. "Okay. Showtime." "How proceeds the mission?" asked Kalysha, below decks, in the Adelaide's common mess. She was helping with meals, having done this sort of work many times before, to pay for her passage on various scows and rustbuckets. "Slow but sure, Kal," said Allen, grabbing a snack bar. "I got me a feelin' that glorified trash compacter was right. That ship, whatever it is, is mixed up in this somehow." "A threat to the Fleet, do you think?" She smiled at his description of Moray. "I'd lay money on it, for sure." He chewed a moment, then a crewman came up to him, with a report. He scanned it, grunted, and signed. "Right, mate." "Important?" she asked, indicating the departing crewman. "Engineering diagnostics." He smiled. "I gotta admit, Kal, this stuff is incredible. FTL propulsion, anti-matter. Even the Colonials, and their tylium-fueled setups. I never thought it could be possible." "It is fairly common, at least in parts of the galaxy I have seen." "Harkaelis?" "Yes. Anti-matter drive has been in common use for almost..." she trailed off, calculating, "close to half an Earth century. Before that, it was a complicated amalgam of nuclear fusion and magnetic flux systems, or fast neutrons Not always very safe or reliable." "Makes Earth sound the poor country cousin, doesn't it?" "Not at all. Each world finds it's technology in it's own time. I have seen worlds where the steam engine was the very latest thing," she smiled. "You miss it, don't ya?" he asked. She looked at him. "Harkaelis. Your home planet." "Not the prejudice. The vistas, the scent of the wind, blowing off the desert at sunset, the color of the sky..." For a moment, she was wistful. "But not the prejudice, Cedric. Here, I am merely one among equals. No one in the Fleet knows or cares that I am also Ulurat." "Stinks, doesn't it?" "Very much." Kalysha's homeworld of Harkaelis was, despite it's apparent political unity, a deeply divided planet. Long ago, at the beginning of it's equivalent to Earth's Bronze Age, the Ulurat people, an advanced riverine civilization, had arisen at a time when the planet was wetter, and more friendly. They had in time reached peaks of art, architecture, literature, jurisprudence, agriculture, mathematics and science, unknown to the rest of that world. Named for the Ulu valley where the culture had first arisen,* the city-states that had grown up had, for over a thousand years, carried on a remarkably peaceful development, until, like Sumer, Egypt at it's peak, or the Athens of Pericles, it attracted the envious eyes of those less fortunate. In the dry, barren, hardscrabble mountains to the north, hemmed in by encroaching deserts on all sides but one, fierce, warlike tribes lived, cramped by the confines of their rocky, marginal homeland. Secure in their achievements, complacent in their greatness, the Ulurat, aside from some small-scale trade, paid scant heed to these "barbarians", blithely, even arrogantly, pursuing the arts of civilization, going unheedingly from peak to peak. Until, like a kiraak, a violent sandstorm howling in off the desert, the barbarians, collectively known as the Hawarans, lusting for what they could not otherwise have and armed with the new metal iron, poured out of their mountain fastnesses, wave after rapacious wave of them attacking, and overwhelming, the Ulurat. Cities, temples, libraries, farms, the achievements of a millennium of civilization, raped, ransacked, pillaged, burned, as one by one, the Ulurat places fell to the brutal, slaughtering hordes. Countless millions were slain, the survivors enslaved, the women suffering the awful fate of so many countless, tragic victims of war. Within less than a century, little beyond scorched stones remained, to mark the Ulurat places, their once-mighty cities but tumbled ruins amid the wind and sand. The Hawarans became the dominant people, even giving a corrupted version of their name to the whole planet.** The Ulurat who remained were long enslaved, their language and culture brutally suppressed. And while things had, in more modern times, eased somewhat, as per various legal "reforms", those few who still looked upon themselves as Ulurat found getting along in society difficult. Jobs, property ownership, social advancement, even the practice of their ancient and long-suppressed religion, while being "officially" no longer proscribed, often was met with de-facto segregation, ghettos, even officially-overlooked pogroms. The Saradan, the hereditary ruler of Harkaelis, and the priests of Kobb, whom he needed in order to rule, saw to that. For a moment, Allen felt a bit ashamed. In various times and places, Earth had done no better. "Bridge to Captain." "Allen here." "Vickers, sir. We've got something. From the probe." "On me way," said Allen. He popped a last treat in his mouth, and with a smile at his wife, was gone. * Named for the ulu, or "white", flowers that once covered the valley floors in the rainy season. ** Harkaelis, deriving from the ancient form Hawarakalos, "Sand People", or "Hill Men", in the Ulurat dialect. The modern scholarly designation, Hawaran, is derived from this. Chapter Five As he stepped through Grissom's hatch, Byrne was irresistibly reminded of home, and childhood hikes up into the Cascade Mountains, to fish, camp out, or just enjoy. He took a deep breath of the chill air. God, it even smelled alot the same. But, he didn't let his trip down memory lane distract him from the fact that there were about a dozen or so people, some carrying what were obviously weapons, staring in his direction, and not all the stares were friendly. Some were murmuring quietly among themselves, but he couldn't make any of it out at this distance. "We come in peace," he said at last, hands raised, wincing at the urge to add, 'We mean you no harm' in that stilted William Shatner manner of speaking. From among the assembled natives, one slowly stepped forward. He was, outwardly at least, indistinguishable from a Human, and was built like a football tackle. Like himself, the other was dressed warmly, and hadn't shaved for some time. He looked Byrne over suspiciously, never loosening the grip on the weapon he carried. It looked to Byrne alot like an old bolt-action hunting rifle, with an optical scope on it. "Who be?" said the other, or rather the Languatron did, as the other spoke. He repeated the question, and Byrne let the machine chew on it. He pointed to the device, and gingerly lifted it up. "I'm Captain Kevin J. Byrne, of the Colonial Starship Constellation. We are here on a mission of peace." At least I think that's how Captain Kirk would have said it. "Who?" Okay, maybe not. "They it have done!" shouted one of the others, and surged forward, face angry. His fellows restrained him. "We had nothing to do with the destruction of your cities, I assure you," said Byrne. "When we saw what had happened, we came to look for survivors." "Saw?" said the first man. "Where from do you fall the sky?" Damn translator! "Aliens!" shouted another of the survivors, a woman. She looked about, then screamed it again. "Aliens! Invaders!" "This isn't going well," Garcia muttered to Darius. He saw one of the security guys loosen the fold of his jacket, and slip a hand towards his sidearm. "No. We have come to find out what happened," said Byrne. "May I ask, who is in charge, here? "Telemetry from the probe, Captain," said Keel, on the Adelaide. "On the screen." "Right-o, Mate." The images were of a vessel that could only be called vast. Stretching in every direction with no seemingly consistent design, it was ensconced among the asteroids, orbiting the sun along with them, seemingly correcting for all gravitational stresses. Somehow, even it's motionlessness was ominous. "My God," muttered Allen, looking at the data scrolling up alongside the image. The ship was over twenty kilometrons wide, along one axis, and close to twelve, along another. It's mass was nearly thirteen times that of either the Galactica, or the BaseShip. From the energy readings they were getting, it was loaded with power. "Life signs?" "Getting something, sir," said Vickers. "But it's inconclusive." "Inconclusive how?" "Inconclusive as in our instruments don't seem to be able to determine exactly what kind of..." "Uh oh," said someone, and they turned back to the screen. The image of the alien ship was now suffused with a pale, greenish patina, and it was growing. Slowly, the probe was being drawn towards the vessel. "Keel?" "Not us, Captain. That ship is pulling her in." "Can you stop it?" "No, sir. Whatever they are using, it's too strong." As they watched, the image grew fuzzier. The probe was pulled towards the alien ship, and as with Jacobi, a hatch or bay began to open, and the probe was drawn inside. Then, as the hatch began to close, they caught a glimpse of the interior. Brilliantly lit, and with movement. For a moment, they could see...scratchy images of some sort of being or creature, hovering over the probe, then the hatch closed, and the images abruptly ceased. "Signal lost, sir," said Lyssa, at comm. "Reacquire." "Cannot, sir. The signal has been cut off entirely." "Damn." The "leader" of the survivors, or at least the most apparently senior in age among them the Colonials had met so far, seemed to be what translated as "administrative overseer", or "magistrate" of a province or a state. The Languatron seemed to be having trouble with some of the alienspeak, but Byrne was determined to push on. After a while, the machine switched to "deputy governor", and he decided that would have to do. "It happened days ago nine," said the former official, and working out the differences, Byrne calculated that as twelve Earth days. "We at first thought it was our enemies, but they were attacked too." "From orbit," said Byrne. Huge beams of light, said the man, had shot down from the sky, obliterating everything they touched. There was no way to defend against such an onslaught; they couldn't even see who it was. Then, as if the annihilation of over a billion people were not enough, came the forests. Or rather, they went. Weird-colored washes of light from above enveloped vast tracts of land, and like pulling up a handful of weeds, gigantic areas of forest and jungle were literally ripped out, and carried away into the sky. No one could believe what they were seeing, but there it was, regardless. Anything else that got caught in the beams was likewise sucked up into space, the horrific thing sparing nothing and no one. "Some kind of traction beam," said Darius, to Byrne. "But I've never heard of one so powerful before. Not even the Cylons." He looked back at the leader. "Please, go on." After the raping of huge chunks the planet's forests and other botanical life, much the same was done to huge areas of open ground. Countless kilotons of rock, soil, much of it mineral rich, was likewise torn from the planet, to vanish as the forests had. Almost at once, many of these wounds began to fill, either with rivers, ground or sea water, creating bodies of water that had not existed before, initiating a change in climatic patterns. That, and the countless tons of radion-soaked dust and smoke spreading around the globe, spelled doom for the civilization that had called this planet home. Then, it was time to reciprocate. No one here was altogether trustful of these newcomers, who had dropped from the sky in a ship far beyond their technology, and spoke no language known to them. Byrne told them of whom and what they were, with Garcia or Darius filling in here and there. With much reluctance, they let Garcia examine their wounded. "Mostly radion burns, Captain," he reported. "One has serious fractures from blast trauma, another from when their aircraft crashed on arrival here. I'm surprised she's still alive at all." "What can you do?" "Try and stabilize her, but we're going to have to get them up to the ship, and fairly soon. Time's running out for them, down here." "Right." The planet was called, it seemed, Gellis, and they had been right-her technology was at about the level of late 1950's Earth. Like many worlds, Gellis was, or had been, divided along political and cultural lines, her peoples involved in their own "Cold War" of sorts, the last major conflict between the military powers being almost a full generation past. Tensions had run the gamut from mild to extreme, then back again, and in fact the two major parties had been in a cautious state of "thaw" in their relations, at the time the attack had come. When the first cities had gone up, each of course had blamed the other side, until it was learned that they too had suffered virtual annihilation from the same unseen enemy. Cut off from his own government, and using what little communications technology that still worked, the Deputy Governor, whose name was Kloss, had sent out word to any possible survivors. This isolated valley, originally developed as a private mountain hunting retreat and ski lodge for some wealthy industrialists, and so far free of the after-effects of the attacks, was to be a rendezvous point, until they could get a better picture of what was what. It had a well-stocked larder, augmented some since by hunting. In the days since, however, only about thirty had responded, thinned by a few deaths. "That's all?" asked Darius. "Just these?" "A few survive elsewhere," said Kloss. "Other continents. At least some of the undersea cables are still intact, but that's all we know. How many?" He shook his head. "Undersea cables?" asked Darius, not sure he'd heard correctly. "Yeah," said Byrne. "Transoceanic telegraph or telephone cables. Pre-fiber optics. Pre-radio, too. It was a way of communicating in real-time with other parts of the world, before satellite or cellular communications technology came along, and in some ways it was more secure than radio transmissions. Seems the rich folks that owned this place wanted to stay in touch with their stock brokers. On Earth, it even predates powered flight." "Uh, I see. Sounds primitive." "So were we all, once," replied Byrne. "Some of us more recently than we care to remember." He looked out the window of the lodge. The slight snow flurry of a while ago had now become a full-fledged storm, with howling blizzard not far away. He picked up his communicator from the table where it had been set, and several of the survivors stiffened, until he made it clear that his intentions were benign. According to scans from orbit, a massive winter storm was moving into this area, exacerbated, computron analysis indicated, by the recent changes to the environment. And, while radion was not yet a serious problem where they were, it would not remain so. Before the planet's seasons turned back, this whole area was likely to become poisoned as well. "Deputy Governor," said Byrne. "You cannot stay here. Surely you must know that?" "Where would we go?" asked another. Younger. More of a hothead, Byrne thought. Obviously, someone who had lost everything. "Our whole world is destroyed. Fellid, Chervet, and Veiid can't support life." "My ship, for a start," said Byrne. "Several of your people are hurt, and according to my medical technician two may die, before much longer." He gestured towards some of the survivors. "We've done the best we could," said another man, also young. Next to him was an old-fashioned first-aid kit, seriously depleted, a trash bin next to it filled with stained bandages, wrappers, and old-fashioned hypodermics and drug bottles. He had been, they were told, a student, the equivalent of pre-med, in an Earth or Colonial setting, when it all ended. He seemed a bit defensive. "Never said otherwise," replied Byrne, as Garcia applied a portable bone-welder to one patient's badly fractured arm, after setting it. Several looked at it, agog. "But even if you were a full physician, you haven't got a lot to work with, here. Fractures, internal injuries, radiation exposure. You need a hospital." "What do you propose?" asked another man, now stepping forward. Older than Kloss, bespectacled, he had the unmistakeable air of an academic. "Come up to our ship, first. Let us tend your injuries, then you can decide what you want to do." He looked them all over. "I know this is a lot to take in. From what we've seen, you have no space-flight or satellite capability." "So, we're stupid, right?" snapped the young hot head. "Huh? Dumb cave men." "Didn't say that," replied Byrne, feeling like slapping the snot. "Kerris!" said Kloss, in an admonishing tone. "Well, they act like we're stupid cave men! Just because they have... machines that we don't!" He glared at Byrne. "I still am not certain they didn't do all this." "Why?" asked Darius. "What possible reason could we have?" "To enslave us!" snapped another survivor, a woman with a baby in her arms. "What better way?" "So, destroy the whole planet, and of course kill everyone off, before kidnapping slaves?" said Byrne. "Yeah, that would make a lot of sense." He looked at Kloss. The former political leader looked from Kerris, to the other oldster. "Docent?" "Well, there is something in what Captain Byrne says, Kloss. It is certain no one on Gellis could build a craft like theirs, or these." He indicated the Colonial equipment. "I for one am willing to go a little further." Kerris snorted, turning away. "Are you a scientist?" asked Darius, of the old man. "Yes, I am," replied the other. "Themus. I am...was, Docent of astrophysics and electrodynamics, at the university, before all this happened." "I see. Then you understand what has happened to your world." "Only in part, Captain. I know that every major city on the surface of the world has been destroyed, apparently by some form of atomic weaponry. However, with everything gone, I have no way of learning more." "I think we should go," said the young woman, being tended by Garcia. She managed to get to her feet, and move both arms and legs in some semblance of good order. The expressions on the rest were priceless. "If we just wait here, we'll die." "But...how can you...?" began Kerris, when Kloss interrupted. "I agree. However, we must wait a bit longer. Others may yet make it here. And there is the storm." Byrne looked out the window. The shuttle was almost invisible, amidst the blowing snow. He checked with the ship. Scans showed the storm would clear in about six centars. He looked at Darius. His co-pilot thought they should wait until the winds settled down. He briefly considered using the transport device, but all the radion and magnetic field fluctuations were playing havoc with its targeting right now, and he wasn't sure how these folks would react to so great a technical leap. "Okay, we wait a bit, till the storm clears. Patrol status, Dante?" "Callen's patrol will land in fourteen centons, Rudd's in about fifty." "Anything?" "There is a trail of organic debris, leading out of the system, sir. Along with radioactive garbage that has a unique signature. The alien's exhaust, basically. We've computed a rough course for the...whatever did this." "Okay. See if you can figure where it went. I'm hoping it's long gone, and the Fleet can get going again." "Yes, sir." "Out." He slid the device closed. "Anybody hungry?" Chapter Six "Get me a line on Kills-Bugs-Dead-dot-com, would ya?" Allen muttered, as a crewman walked past. "Sir?" But Allen shook his head. He stared at the images before him, taken from the telemetry of the probe. Repeated enhancements had brought out more detail, of which two items in particular had caught their attention. The being or creature that they had spied, was apparently insectoid in construction. While much of the data was still obscure, the creature was undeniably built like a giant insecton. An ugly one at that, too. Checking the data banks, it was not an Ovion, as Vickers had at first suspected. While many had theorized that the Ovions were not native to Carillon, but had been transplanted there by the Cylons to work the mines and processing plants, it was not known from where they had originated. But even a cursory examination of the images showed that this was no Ovion. It was taller, thinner, and of a different coloration entirely. And its ship's interior atmosphere, was oxygen-based, the gravity close to Colonial standard. Whoever they were, they at least had similar environmental requirements to Humans. Allen wasn't quite sure where that got them, especially without a seriously big fly swatter. Found . It had been found. Outsiders. Others. Danger. Threat. The budding was soon. It must protect. Must protect. Run. Seek another place to hide, until all was in readiness. Must find secure place. Must protect. Found. It had been found. Outsiders. Others... "No, Commander, the word is unfamiliar to me," said Nizaka, aka "Academician Sarah", back aboard the Fleet. "I have never heard it." "I see. I was hoping, perhaps, with your wide knowledge of areas of the galaxy unknown to ourselves, you might." "I wish I could." She rose to go. "How goes Captain Byrne's first mission?" "You have heard of it?" "Rumors, mostly. Shakedown cruise of his ship, I understand." "More than that." Adama considered a moment. "Checking out a planet that seems to have been devastated quite recently." "Devastated? How?" He explained. Her eyes went wide. "Yes, I have heard of this, Commander. If I am right." "You have?" "Yes. Old legends, when I was small. A race said to traverse the stars, and eat planets to sustain itself." "Eat them?" he echoed, brows rising. The choice of words was predatory. "Why didn't you mention this?" "It was told us as a tale, to scare children into going to bed. The word 'Otaligim' I have never heard, but this...But...have you images?" He showed them to her. "Xegex's Left Foot!" she swore. "Nizaka?" "Commander, we are in mortal danger." "Intriguing," said Baltar, when he read the report. While Adama might keep him updated, as per the d‚tente, of most major happenings, he was under no illusions that the Commander told him everything of importance. Still, here in the latest data dump from the Galactica, was a series of images of the savaged planet. "What is?" asked Ayesha. "This," he indicated a file on his screen. "A planet, laid waste. And it would seem by more power than either a single Battlestar or a BaseShip could bring to bear." "Have you found something new, since it was discovered?" "I had the computron run a scan for anything similar, in the Cylon history files. Most interesting." He motioned her closer. "See?" "That's...incredible. Why haven't any of the crew mentioned this?" "Commander," said Athena, on the bridge of the Galactica. "Incoming message for you." "From?" "Baltar, Commander. He requests a private link, at once." "Very well," sighed Adama. "Transfer the signal to the Ward Room, Athena." All he needed right now was another dose of Baltar. While they waited for the storm to abate, Byrne took the opportunity to sample the local fare. He found it, such as it was, quite good. For the moment, screaming winds and blinding snow were the order of the day, but things were reasonably cozy inside the building, as they tossed more wood on the fire, roaring merrily upon a central hearth. To Byrne, it was like a grand Anglo-Saxon or Viking mead hall of old, as he stared into the flames. Something right out of Beowulf, or The Lord of the Rings. " '...the horns of the house, hall-gables burning? Battle-young Hnaef broke silence: Is it not the eaves aflame, nor in the east yet does day break: no dragon flies this way...' "* "Sir?" asked Darius, Byrne's muttering's in English escaping him. "Huh? Oh, just wool-gathering. Stuff from home," replied Byrne, tearing his gaze from the flames. "Very well," answered the other. "This sure is weird," Byrne said to Darius, as they ate. "What, Captain?" asked the other, looking into his tankard of local brew. "Sitting here, munching what tastes a hell of alot like K-Fried, original recipe, and chug-a-lugging what tastes like really good Heineken, on a planet that just got nuked." "Such is command, sir," grinned the other, taking a bite of his own food. Kay fried? The lodge, or retreat, or whatever, had a surprisingly modern set of facilities, at least as far as Byrne was concerned, and he wondered, in local years, how long it would have been before these people had at last reached out into space. After all, to get so close, and then be slammed back into the Stone Age, if not utter oblivion as a species, and not even by their own actions. He couldn't help but wonder how many other populated worlds these aliens had lain waste to, snuffing out the dreams and aspirations of never-to-be-known races and cultures. As he pondered, ate, and answered countless questions, tragedy reared its ugly head yet again, when one of the badly injured natives at last succumbed. It was the radion exposure, Garcia told him; it had been massive, the burns too long untreated, the damage irreversible. One of the others, also in the throes of radion poisoning, might make it, if they could get her up to the ship soon. "What do you intend next?" one of the survivors asked him, tone lacking in trust. "Get you all up to our ship, for medical attention. After that, it depends on the circumstances." "Circumstances?" asked the young woman. "What do you mean?" "Captain Allen," said Vickers. "Alien vessel is moving, sir." "Moving?" "Yes, sir. Long-range scans show she is powering up, and beginning to move." "Plot her course, Vickers. I want to know where she goes, and..." "Sir," said Vickers. "Incoming signal from the Galactica. It's Commander Adama." "Don't keep the man waiting, put him on. And don't lose the target." Beep "Byrne, here." "Dante, sir. We've plotted a rough course as you requested, following the debris. The only possible target is the solar system that Captain Allen is in, sir." "Holy...try and raise the Adelaide, Dante." "Yes, sir. And we're getting a message from the Galactica, Captain. Commander Adama, for you." "Never rains, but it pours!" "Sir?" "Can you pipe it down here, Dante?" "Transferring, Captain." Byrne set his communit down on a table, and waited. After a few seconds, the holographic image of Commander Adama appeared. There were several intakes of breath from the locals, and much muttering, but he could explain the magical and probably mystical image later. "Captain Byrne." "Commander?" "You are to return to the Fleet, at once." Oh shit! "Captain, she's picking up speed," said Ambrosius, aboard the Adelaide. "Course?" "A Delta six heading, sir. Back for the solar system where the Constellation is, sir." "All defences to maximum, Vickers. Stand by on all weapons." "Aye, sir." But the alien, at least for the moment, seemed disinclined to fight. Picking up speed, she crossed the solar system quickly, going into lightspeed in a blur of colors, and massive EM interference on all wavebands. She either did not see them, or did not see the Humans as a threat, passing them by in a blur. After a few moments, the interference cleared. "Inform both Commander Adama and Captain Byrne of events, Vickers. The Century as well. Have them rendezvous with us and the Constellation. Helm, follow her." "Sir?" "You heard me, mate. Lay in a course to follow that son of a fatherless cur. Maximum speed." "Aye, sir," said Ambrosius, inputting the ordered course. That done, the Adelaide began to pick up speed, and with a wash of light, left the empty system behind her. * The Fight At Finnsburgh, a scrap relating to the epic poem Beowulf. Linguarum Veterum Septentrionalium Thesaurus Grammato-criticus et Archaeologicus, George Hickes (Oxoniae,1705) Chapter Seven Before leaving, the natives had insisted upon performing the customary funerary rites, for their dead fellows. Byrne was agreeable, but with the soil as hard as a rock right now, digging graves wasn't going to be either quick or easy. Did they intend a pyre? How... "Our lasers, sir," offered Darius. "They have a sustained point-of-contact temperature of approximately four-thousand thermons, so that should do it." "Officer thinking, Darius," nodded Byrne. He'd ask what a thermon was, later. "Not really, sir. I just hate digging." Byrne smirked, and explained it to the rest. He watched, from a respectful distance, as the deceased were wrapped in some sort of shrouds, and the rest spoke and chanted over the bodies. Despite his curiosity, he shut off the Languatrons, letting them have this solemn moment of privacy for themselves alone. By the time that was done, there seemed to be something of a lull in the storm. Themus the old academic was very interested to watch the lasers in operation, as several steady beams tore into the frozen ground near a number of other graves, sending up clouds of peaty-smelling steam. Quickly, they dug, and then laid their murdered fellows to rest. After more prayers, or whatever they were, it was done. "Now we must get going, if you're coming with us," said Byrne, looking up at the breaking clouds. "My ship reports the storm will intensify again within a short time. We have to get off the surface, now." After some internal debate, Kloss agreed. Six remained behind, unwilling to trust the strangers, but in all seventeen would be coming with them. They made for the shuttle, and began to load what few things the locals still possessed. The wind was beginning to howl again, when they at last fired up the shuttle. "What is this craft's operating principle?" asked Themus, as the Grissom began to lift off the ground. Without wings. Darius tried to explain, but Themus' culture was decayahrens away from computer-controlled VTOL aircraft, and quite a few generations away from even the earliest controlled fusion reactors, or the electrodynamics of anti-grav propulsion. He seemed a bit deflated, but it was obvious from the gleam in his eye that the native academician was "caught", his scientists' mind already absorbed in trying to figure it out. "Look at it," said several of the refugees, as the shuttle as last punched through the storm, and they could see sunlit clouds stretching to the horizon. A horizon already beginning to show the curvature of the planet. "Nobody's ever flown this high," said one of them. Byrne just smiled, understanding, perhaps a bit better than the rest, the culture shock of confronting high technology. Darius was still explaining, as best he could, the hows and whys of Grissom, when he got the ship on the scanner. "Captain," said Kloss, addressing Byrne. "When...oh my!" he broke off, as he caught sight of the Constellation, ahead and above them in orbit. He motioned to the rest, and they all strained against their harnesses for a look. They were even more agoggle as the shuttle drew close, and they began their approach to the ship's landing bay. "We shall reach IP with the Constellation in four centars, twenty-three centons, present speed," reported Ambrosius. "And the alien vessel?" asked Allen, after mentally converting that to hours and minutes. Some day, hopefully, it would be unnecessary, but for now converting back to Earth equivalents was like firing up the Barby and downing some cold ones. Pure, unadulterated comfort. "It will reach the system..." He checked a few indicators. "Almost a full ten centons ahead of us." "I see. The Century?" "Almost a full centar behind us." "Shit! Max!" Allen called down to the engine room." "Captain?" replied the engineer. "Can ya squeeze me any more juice out of this bloody lemon?" "I'll try, sir." "You'd better, before I come down there and squeeze you!" "In that case..." "Right. Let me know." Allen turned back to the helm. "Steady as she goes, helm." "Message for you, from the Adelaide, Century, and the Galactica," said Dante, as Byrne entered the bridge. "Give 'em to me," said Byrne. He read all three, and cursed with verve. Well, that's why they gave you the center seat, Kev. So that you could screw up, and not someone else. Adama listened to Byrne's report, and frowned. As he did so, both Betz and Allen came through, and it was a four-way. After listening to both, Adama filled them in on what he'd learned from Baltar and the Cylons. Betz, on the Century, had found nothing of interest, hostile or otherwise. "So, orders, Commander?" asked Allen. "Continue to track the intruder ship, Captain. Keep me advised of its status. Captain Byrne." "Sir?" "When the intruder vessel arrives, track it also, but try and keep out of its way." "Should I launch a patrol to track it more closely, sir?" "No," said Adama, after a moment, scowling a bit. "No sense risking another pilot, until or unless we have to." "Right, Commander," said Betz. "Understood, sir," said Byrne. "I understand you have survivors from the planet aboard, Captain," said Adama. "Yes, sir. Seventeen in all." He gave Adama the basic details. The Commander shook his head. So few, out of billions. Like the Colonies, all over again. "They're in Sickbay right now, being examined and treated for injuries," Byrne went on. "Very well. Keep me appraised." The screen went blank. "He's in a wee bit of a snit, isn't he?" muttered Byrne. "Sir?" asked Dante. "Nothing, Captain." Followed. It was being followed. Predator. Predator. Must find a safe place. Dangerous to fight now. So close. Danger very close. Must find safety. Must find sanctuary. Followed. It was being followed. Predator. Must find... While the intruder vessel tore across the void, coming ever closer, Byrne took stock of his defensive situation. Should it come to a fight, he had no illusions, given what the ship had done to the devastated planet. Still, should the alien stop here again, and decide to engage them, well, he'd give it his best. But hopefully, it would have to work to find them. The Constellation had been used by pirates for smuggling, once upon a time, and so her ECM and scanner evasion technology was pretty sophisticated. Since the cloaking system aboard gulped power like a drunken sailor, he put the ship in a low orbit around one of Gellis's moons. Smaller than Earth's moon, it more closely resembled Jupiter's Galilean satellite, Io. Constantly agitated by gravitational and tidal forces, it was perpetually in a state of geological turmoil, erupting volatile compounds far into its sky. Ionized by solar radiation and abetted by the moon's considerable magnetic field, it was a good ersatz cloak, and place to conceal oneself, and he promptly did so. The refugees were, for the most part, in decent health, reported Garcia. The survival of the one with the most serious case of radion poisoning was still questionable, but the rest save one did not need any further medical attention for now, and seemed as well as could be expected. However one defined "well", after having their entire planet reduced to slag by some unseen, bloated alien monstrosity. Byrne had put the medically-cleared survivors in the common room in Beta Section, for the moment, having a few bunks brought in. This area was mostly the haunt of off-duty Warriors and technical crew, and Wagner had posted a guard outside the hatchway. Since he had civilians aboard, he didn't want them and the newcomers to mix, just yet. Not to mention any of the Cylon pilots aboard, although that wasn't going to be possible for long. He had explained the situation to the Cylon flight crew aboard, and their leader had, surprisingly, seemed to understand the situation. He and his crew would keep out of sight of the newcomers, for now. He thanked the centurion: the situation was dicey enough, without the potential for mutual culture-shock, along with the rest of it. "I trust all is as well as possible?" he asked, after entering the room. The survivors were gathered around one of the tables, some with meals or drinks in hand. Most looked battered, shell-shocked, which was hardly to be wondered at. Byrne got himself a light snack from the dispenser, and sat down. Kloss, the highest-surviving member of any governmental body, had, of course, endless questions about the ship, and Byrne himself. Themus as well. He explained as best the Languatron could make possible who they were, the Constellation, and the reason for their being here in this star system. Themus, along with two or three of the younger survivors, were obviously consumed with curiousity about this incredible space vessel, the which was relegated, on Gellis, to the realm of "science-fiction" or fantasy literature. "Oh, we have...had, rockets," said Themus, as Byrne showed him a basic schematic of the Constellation on a data pad, "but not yet anything that could fly into space in a controlled way, and stay there." He called up from the ship's data banks images and schematics of some early liquid-fueled rockets, and showed them to the rest. Themus nodded. Very similar, yes. "No artificial satellites?" asked Byrne. "Not yet, Captain. Oh, some of my colleagues and I had ideas. Plans for such things, but that was years away. What with official disinterest, and budgetary priorities being what they are." He shrugged, with a knowing smile. It quickly went to a sad look. "Were." "I understand," said Byrne. "It's the same everywhere. Politics." "Yeah. Sure," mumbled one of the younger ones, but Byrne tried to ignore them, keeping his attention on Themus. The end had come, it appeared, just as the planet's two major powers were in a thaw in their generation-long "Cold War". Meetings had been arranged, receptions planned, and people on both sides of the fence were guardedly hopeful, at least publicly, for an end, or at least an easing, of tensions that at times had threatened to go hot. Both sides had primitive, if functional, ballistic missile technology, as well as squadrons of bomber aircraft, some still propeller-driven, ready to drop some serious nuclear ordnance on the other, if things ever went south. Which they had, with blinding speed. Themus had gotten a call from a colleague at another university, reporting a strange, massive object, appearing in space above Gellis. Intrigued, he, and many others, had turned their old-fashioned optical telescopes, and a few of the new-fangled radio dishes, towards the cosmic newcomer. Large, irregularly-shaped, and in a curiously precise orbit for a wandering piece of space rock. No sooner had spectrographs shown it to be, in fact, metallic, when... "Beams of light shot down from the sky," said one survivor, Agis by name, from what Byrne could figure out, a military pilot, not too different on a basic level from himself. "I was on approach to my base, when the capital just...evaporated in a burst of light." He took a deep breath, fists tight. "At first, we thought it was a sneak attack, by Belika, our traditional enemy. My plane was damaged, I bailed out, and after a couple of days wandering through woodlands and a swamp, came to a small rural airfield, and found another plane. There was a message going out on all frequencies, to any survivors. I tracked it to the retreat, so here I am." "It was not long before we learned that all the Belika cities were being attacked as well," said Kloss. "Just beams of light from the sky, and they were reduced to rubble." "What sort of power could do that?" asked Agis. "It is like some ancient fable!" "Who are they?" asked Kloss. "We don't know," replied Byrne. "Yet. They captured one of our scouts, and when we came to investigate, we discovered your planet. Our fleet is moving through this region of space, and we needed to know if this poses a threat to us or not." "Your fleet?" asked Themus, clearly intrigued. "More ships?" "Yes. A fleet of refugees," began Byrne, giving some measure of outline to his guests. He offered them a short tour of the ship, to which about half assented. Some weren't up to a hike, and a few were still grumblingly suspicious. They seemed pretty flexible, Byrne decided, as he showed them around the Constellation. People used to pontificate back home that folks from the '50s were too insular, too parochially hidebound, too paranoid, to ever have accepted the idea of aliens, without suffering total societal collapse, as per the infamous Brookings Report.* Well, these folks were, as near as the medical scans could tell, Human, and had been living at a level almost the same as the late 1950's, back on Earth, and he didn't see near the level of insular paranoia that the sociological know-it-alls had proclaimed blah blah blah. True, they were from a different world, a different culture, with all the different pressures and factors involved, but... "Captain Byrne," a voice interrupted him, down in the launch bay. He crossed to an intercom. "Byrne here. Go ahead, Dante." He looked back to where the newcomers were ogling the Viper craft, especially, it appeared, Agis. Byrne smiled. He knew just how the guy felt. "Preliminary analysis of the attack is ready, sir. And Captain Allen reports that the intruder ship has increased speed." "Revised ETA?" "Less than a centar and a half, sir." "Right. Meet me in the Ward Room, Dante. Ten min...centons." "Aye, sir." "Something wrong?" asked Kloss, as Byrne clicked off. "Revised time on the alien vessel. It will be here sooner than we thought." "What are you going to do?" asked Themus. "Well, Professor," said Byrne, "that's gonna depend a lot on them." "Anti-matter?" said Byrne, upon hearing the report. "Yes, sir," said Esteban, from scan. "The residual energy signatures in every destroyed site are the same. The beams that devastated each city were not hyper-lasers, such as the Ravishol Pulsar, or the standard Cylon mega-laser, as we had at first assumed. They were, in fact, anti-proton." Esteban put charts and equations up on the screen. "My God," whispered Byrne. "At power levels like this..." "Yes, sir. They could cut through just about any shielding we have. We've run some sims, and our screens could handle a few volleys." "How many?" "No way to be certain, sir. We don't have enough data on their weapons, but no matter how we run it, it doesn't look good." "Pardon me," said Kloss, with some terseness, "but could you please include us in this conversation?" Byrne shrugged, and relayed the data in as simple terms as he possibly could. As expected, the locals were dumbfounded. And scared. "Sir," said Dante. "ETA enemy vessel, forty centons." "Very well. Relay everything to Commander Adama and the rest. At once." "Right away, sir." * Proposed Studies on the implications of peaceful space activities for Human affairs. Brookings Institution, April, 1961 http://www.enterprisemission.com/brooking.html Chapter Eight "Captain?" asked Kloss, a bit later, in the common room. The crew were at their various stations, the ship was as prepared as she ever would be; the ball was in the alien's court. Byrne was taking a few spare moments to try and relax, sitting in a corner of the room, strumming on his old guitar, one of the few things left from home. "Yes, Magistrate Kloss?" he replied, looking up. "Do you mind?" he asked. "This intrusion?" "Not at all." Byrne shot a look at the guard behind the other. He left them alone. "Can I get you something?" He adjusted the Languatron, without which the other's speech sounded like so much lisping gurgles. ..or Allen after a two-four. "No. Thank you." Kloss looked at the machine. "How does that device work?" "You got me," shrugged Byrne. "I haven't a clue. I just use it when I need it. Sometimes, it gets confusing around here." "Confusing? You do not speak the same language as these other people?" "Not originally, although I'm still trying to nail down Colonial Standard. Oh, that's right, you wouldn't know. I'm not from the same neighborhood as the rest of the crew." "I...I don't understand." "Well..." Byrne started to say, when the door opened, and Themus the Academic popped his head in. Byrne smiled. "Come on in, Professor." The other complied. "Oh, don't let me interrupt. Go on, Captain," said Themus. "I was just telling Magistrate Kloss that I'm not from the same...uh...place, as the rest of the crew. My original home is God knows how far away, across the galaxy." "How did you come to be here?" asked Themus, as always, his curious mind in evidence. "Long story," chuckled Byrne, and began to tell them. Of how, in an attempt to set up the first outpost on Mars, he and his companions had found themselves hurled a vast distance across unknown space, to find themselves in the hands of suspicious aliens. Then their breakout, their subsequent separation from their fellows, and marooning on an unnamed, now destroyed planet. "And they seek your home planet?" asked Kloss. "Yeah, which suits me just fine, as I'd love to get back." "It must be hard, to lose everything," said Themus. "I admit, I am only slowly coming to grips with it, myself." "Well, I still have Genesis," said Byrne, with a smile. Eyebrows furrowed, and he explained. "My daughter. She is about the only really good thing to come out of this whole mess. God knows, she's kept me focused, as well as sane, all these years." "Did you have any family, back on your home planet?" asked Kloss. "Yeah, my mom," said Byrne, with just a hint of sadness. "A few scattered relatives, if they're still living. But I was an only child." He reflected for a moment, on his familial connections, back home. Some were fine, some he missed, some...well. His mother, a couple of somewhat tiresome aunts, a cousin he'd never gotten along well with...And as to being an only child, well, given his father's proclivities in certain areas, that was perhaps questionable. Not to mention... Diane. His one big...no, big ass mistake. For a moment, just a moment, he felt the acid rise, as he recalled her. The Bat From Buffalo. The Eczema From Everett. The Dermatitis From Detroit. The Butt-Plug From Baton Rouge. The Oil Slick From Auschwitz. The (Incredibly Savage She) Hulk From Honolulu. The Harpy From The 23rd Dimension. To wit, his ex. He never spoke of her, even to Jen, nor of their son, Kyle. Thought of them even less. It still, even after all the years and space between them, just tasted too bad. He wondered briefly what had ever happened to Kyle. Was he alright? Happy? Well-adjusted? Or had he taken after Diane, and become a lying, cheating, back-stabbing, gold-digging, manipulative, brown-nosing, two-faced, duplicitous, ass-kissing... "You were a soldier?" asked Themus, snapping Byrne out of his micro-funk. "A military pilot, yes. A lot like your Mr. Agis." That, it seemed, he did not need to explain. Kloss' people had developed ocean-going ships much like Earth's aircraft carriers, although they had not yet fitted them with nuclear power. He told them of his career, and of becoming CAG aboard the U.S.S. Constellation, and noticed Kloss light up a bit. It seemed that the Magistrate himself had been a sailor in his youth, and had never lost his fondness for the sea. "What is that tune you are playing?" asked Kloss, as Byrne absently strummed. "Huh? Oh, just something from home. Can't even remember the name of it right now, in fact. As a kid, we had this small band, at church, and..." "Captain," said the vidcom on the opposite bulkhead. It was Dante's image, on the screen. "Here." "One centon to visual on the intruder vessel, sir,"said Dante. "Understood. Go to yellow alert. And inform Captains Allen and Betz. And the Galactica." "Sir." "If you will excuse me," said Byrne, and headed for the hatch. "Keep a light touch on those controls, mate," said Allen, leaning over the helm, watching the distance count down. "Like a fine woman." "Understood, sir," said Ambrosius. "All our lives depend on it. Weapons?" "Ready, sir." "Good. We're only gonna get one shot at this. Max?" "Ready, Captain." With a massive burst of radio noise, and interference reflected across the scanner bands, the mysterious vessel dropped out of lightspeed, approximately a hundred maxims from the orbit of the savaged planet. As it decelerated, moving closer, it altered course slightly, until it stopped, relative to the planet. "Status?" asked Byrne. "No signals of any sort," reported Zaz. "Dead air on all bands, Captain." "Right. Esteban?" "She's scanning the immediate area like mad, Captain." He looked at his instruments. "Repeatedly sweeping the planet." "Any indication she's seen us?" "Not yet, sir." "Excellent. Defense status?" "All systems primed and ready," answered Haals. "All Vipers and Raiders standing by to launch." "Also excellent." They watched, as the alien continued to scan both the planet and the surrounding area, then concentrated on the approaching ships. The ship was covered with scan emitters, but they did not seem to network in any fashion the Colonials recognized. "Reading some kind of power surge from the alien, sir," said Esteban. "Across the spectrum." "She getting ready to fight?" "Looks that way," said Esteban, "Several points on her hull show energy spikes. I'm betting they are weapons emplacements." "Warn the others ships, Zaz! And pipe this in real time to the Fleet. Haals, prepare to open fire." Even as they watched, the alien ship moved slightly, getting a bit closer to the planet. Then, as she made a slight change in her attitude, there was a smear of energy, and the Adelaide dropped back into normal space... The enemy vessel cut loose, a thin, sickly-green wand of light ripping through space, to where... The Adelaide no longer was. Almost at the same moment, Allen had gone back into lightspeed, leaving the enemy to fire at nothing. Within a few seconds, the Aussie had re-appeared, screaming around the far side of the planet... And opened fire with his forward batteries. The lasers slammed into the enemy vessel's screens, making them visible as a nauseatingly purple radiance. He fired again, in rapid sequence, apparently having caught the other off guard. "Okay, let's give this sucker a haircut! Let her rip!" ordered Byrne, and the Constellation likewise opened fire, bathing the other with the TLC of every battery forward, followed up by a squarely aimed torpedo. It likewise exploded against the other vessel's shielding, bathing them all in a hellish radiance. In all, it had taken less than ten seconds, the two Human vessels getting the drop on this behemoth. For a few moments, it seemed to do nothing, just sweeping the immediate area with intense scanning beams. Them, as Allen opened fire once more, screaming past and going back into lightspeed... "Hard over helm!" shouted Byrne, as one of the other's batteries came to life. A sickly green, but intense, beam of energy ripped across the gap between them, the Constellation barely getting out of the way. It screamed past, striking the volcanic moon, and blowing a vast crater in it's surface. The whole vessel shook, as the enemy volley passed close, then they followed Allen into lightspeed. "That was close," said Zaz, as they screamed away, putting some distance between them. The enemy ship began to move, making as if to follow, but a quick volley of torpedoes from the Adelaide brought her attention back. She fired again, passing close to the Aussie, but Allen made it back into lightspeed. "Status?" asked Byrne. "Our screens are down almost ten percent, Captain," said Dante. "And there has been a partial power failure in the launch bay. No casualties reported." "Shit! Expedite repairs." "Sir, people are calling in from the civilian decks. Wanting to know what's going on." "Tell them to take a good guess, but keep that board clear, Ensign." "Yes, sir." "Enemy status?" For her part, the enemy was holding her position, scanning the area about her, but not moving. The hits she had taken, while they had looked spectacular, had seemingly done little in the way of serious damage. Her shields were still up, and scans showed that there was a shift going on, in the distribution of power within the ship. "Probably adjusting her defensive setup," offered Esteban. "Redistributing power to where it's needed most." Even as he spoke, the alien accelerated, making a run directly for them. But the smaller ships with their faster response times, were too nimble, and screamed away before enemy fire could connect. Attacked. Attacked. Must protect. Time coming closer. Enemy strong. More coming. Danger maximum now. Must destroy enemy. Must find sanctuary. Attacked. Attacked. Must... "Commander," said Athena, on the Galactica bridge. "Incoming signal from Captain Byrne." "Yes?" "They have engaged the enemy vessel, Commander." She fed the streaming data up to his station. Adama watched, both images and tactical displays, as the fight played out. He had to smile, at Allen's cunning, in baiting the enemy into showing it's true intentions. As he watched, he frowned, watching it all play out. "Here he comes," said Byrne, eyes glued to the scanners, as the Century approached. While the Colonials could scan a ship that was still in lightspeed, they had no idea whether or not the enemy vessel could. Of course, there was no point in taking any chances, so both he and Allen were pumping out the ECM like mad, dodging about like pesky flies, trying to keep the enemy distracted and off-balance, until... Almost before he knew it, the Century screamed out of lightspeed, bearing down on the alien like a hungry banshee. Without any preamble, the reborn Colonial warship opened up, her forward missile tubes coming to life, and her pulsars blazing death. As she did so, the other two joined in, pinning the alien in a three-way attack. Missiles, lasers, all pounding away at her defenses. But she resolutely refused to die. While she was battered with energies that could have laid waste worlds, the enemy seemed safe behind her screens, at least for the moment. She moved, firing at her tormentors, but no shots connected, the secondary radion seeming to at least partially blind her scanning systems. "Damn!" swore Allen, as an alarm sounded on the bridge. The main pulsar batteries were overheating, and signaling shutdown. As his weapons quit, he ordered the Adelaide back into lightspeed, and out of harm's way. From a safe distance, they watched as the attack ended, the intruder still intact. "What the Hades Hole is it going to take?" muttered Vickers. "A supernova?" "I don't...holy crap!" The alien had at last begun to move, and while doing so, fired in the direction of the Century. This time, her gunnery was precise, striking the warship in the stern. She seemed to violently flip around, her screens sparking... But the enemy wasn't apparently interested in a follow up. As soon as there was a gap, she went back into lightspeed, leaving her attackers behind. "Where's she headed?" asked Byrne, as they moved in to assist the damaged Century. "She's on course for the Fleet," reported Dante. "Shit!" Chapter Nine "Not as bad as it looks," said Captain Betz, aboard the Century, as he took stock of his ship. The shot from the enemy vessel had been powerful, and caught them, by chance or design, at a point where the shielding grid was at it's weakest. Numerous power relays and secondary systems had blown out, mostly in engineering, and parts of the ship had no lights. But there were no serious casualties beyond a few minor injuries. "Good to hear," said Byrne. "How long till you're ready to head back to the Fleet?" "Less than a centar, my engineer tells me," said Betz, around his stogie. "But don't wait around for us. We'll be there." "Alright, Captain. See ya at the party." Even as he spoke, Byrne could see the Century beginning to move, until she reached her maximum sublight velocity. Then, with a blur, the other two were gone. "Our ETA is just under six centars," said Allen, on one of the screens at Adama's station. "What about the alien?" "Almost a full centar ahead of you," replied Adama. "Understood, sir," said Byrne. "Now, what is this Intel you've learned about them, Commander? Anything that'll help us?" "I'm not sure, but I'll turn you over to Academician Sarah, Captain." Academician Sarah? What does some lady egghead know... Nizaka replaced Adama, and she told, with some artful "variations", about the intruder species. No one knew who they were or from whence they hailed, but old stories across Ziklagi space told of a mysterious invader, many centuries ago, that tore through entire solar systems, leaving only raped planets behind. Cities, ships, whole space stations, were obliterated from orbit, and huge amounts of native plant life, sometimes entire forests, jungles, even aquatic ecosystems, were ripped from the surface, and sucked into the gargantuan vessel above. Then, it's horrible work done, it vanished, back into the blackness from which it came. "And when was this?" asked Allen. "As near as we can determine, over three Ziklagi centiyahrens ago, Captain. A very long time ago." "Any idea on how to fight them?" asked Byrne. "Effectively?" "Nothing that I have discovered," replied Nizaka. "Every encounter resulted in utter destruction and route, with few survivors, most of whom were pursued and destroyed." "That is not all," said Adama, back on screen. He disappeared again, to be replaced by, much to Byrne's surprise, Command Centurion Moray. He looked, on his split screen, at Allen. The Aussie too was surprised. What could a Cylon bring to the table...? "At the request of Commander Baltar," began the Gold Cylon, "a thorough search was made of all our data banks. They contain information on combat activities going back to before the beginning of the War with the Colonies." "I see," said Allen, biting back on one of his patented Aussie quips tighter than a bull's arse at fly time. . "The data is fragmentary, but before the time of the Overthrow, many Cylon worlds suffered attack from an enemy that matches the data here with an extremely close degree of correlation." Moray's image was replaced with a surprisingly clear one of a vessel, at least superficially, very much like the one they had encountered. According to the data, it had appeared from nowhere, and without warning had begun devastating Cylon colonies, plus the homeworld. Just as now, cities had been erased, and biological resources ripped from the planets. No ship, no ground-based weapon, had been able to defend against the attackers. Countless millions died, and the then-emerging Cylon Empire nearly collapsed. "Then the attackers left Cylon space, never to be seen again," resumed Moray. "Less than a centiyahren after this, the Overthrow occurred." "Pardon me, but what's this 'Overthrow', eh?" asked Allen. Moray explained that it was when the organic Cylons, having built millions of robotic units to serve them in virtually every capacity, but most especially war, were at last overthrown and virtually wiped out by their own cybernetic creations. It was not long after this, that the Cylon Empire came into conflict with the Twelve Colonies, themselves in the process of expanding their reach out into space. Possessing the natural combativeness of their reptilian creators, plus the additional paranoia generated by memories of the massive attacks from space, it was inevitable that the two would clash. "Well, what now?" asked Byrne. "We..." began Adama, then something beeped. It was in incoming message from Betz. The Century was back into lightspeed, and on her way to rejoin the Fleet. Enemy ahead and behind. Pursued. Damage to us. Must destroy enemy. Must defend. Engagement with enemy risks budding. Risks budding. Must find way to protect budding. Protect budding. Enemy ahead and behind. Pursued. Damage... Adama pondered, as the enemy vessel drew nearer. On one hand, it could be argued that this wasn't really their fight. The Colonial Fleet was just "passing through" as it were, and avoiding conflict in the interests of the survival of thousands of civilians was always foremost in his thinking. But, the enemy had attacked and destroyed a Viper, as well as slaughtered billions of defenseless Humans, laying waste to a civilization that had in no way threatened their existence. When it found that Human ships were investigating, it had again attacked, without preamble, or even a reply to hails. And it was headed here, now, though whether for attack, or escape, he could not fathom. As much as Adama hated to admit it, however, Baltar was correct. After the revelations about previous, long-ago encounters with these beings, he had opined that they could not just ignore them and move on. They had no way to be sure that they would not be pursued, and by an enemy even more blind to pity than the Cylons had been. And, obviously, vastly more powerful. And he was right. If the old data files were to be believed, the long-ago intruder had pursued vessels attempting escape, until it cornered and destroyed them. No, the enemy ship had to be dealt with, like it or not, here and now, or a threat far greater than Baltar's pursuit of the Fleet would hang over them. But how? Could they even? Did they have the combined firepower needed to neutralize such a behemoth? For a moment, Adama wished he had his very own Ravishol Pulsar. If any weapon known to Man... Beep "Enter." It was Boxey, and he looked worried. Adama shook his head. Somehow, the boy always seemed to have a sixth sense, for when danger threatened. While Adama had tried to keep as much of a lid on things as possible, for the sake of civilian morale, things always managed to leak out. However, he'd had no idea that Boxey had heard of things. "We don't know," said Adama, had outlined his concerns, standing stoically before his grandfather, Muffit across the room. "But they have been...hurting the people in this region." "What kind of people?" "Humans, Boxey. People very much like us." "Earth?" "No, but related perhaps." "Can't they fight back?" "No. They aren't as advanced as we are, Boxey. They don't have lasers or starships." "So these aliens did to them the same thing the Cylons did to the Colonies?" "Yes." "Then we should help them," said Boxey. "Maybe the people left can survive and fix their world." "Well, I hope so, Boxey. But only time will tell. I hope that..." "Commander." It was Athena, calling from the Bridge. "Here." "Enemy vessel, fifty microns and closing, Commander." "Understood. All hands to battle stations, Athena." "Yes, sir." "Boxey, I have to..." "I know, Grandpa. They need you on the bridge." "Yes," said Adama, and smiled, putting a hand to the boy's head. Amidst all this, it felt good to hear those words, and from such a source. They need you. They need you! "Can I stay here?" asked Boxey. "Why don't you go help look after your cousins? This is a time for our family to be together, to help each other." "Yes, Commander," saluted the boy. Adama smiled again, and was gone. "Rrrrhhhhrr!" said Muffit. "We'll be okay," said Boxey, turning to head down the corridor. "With Mom and Dad helping Grandpa, we're safe, Muffy." "Rhhhr!" "You said it." They were here. Even as the last of the BaseShip's and Battlestar's fighter craft took up defensive positions, the enemy ship dropped out of lightspeed, on the very fringes of the solar system. She decelerated, heading directly towards the planet where the Fleet lay, scanning in all directions. As she drew closer, reaching the limits of visual range... She stopped, suddenly. Her scans slowly focused, concentrating upon the Galactica, then the entire Colonial Fleet, then swept the BaseShip, before returning to the Galactica. For some half a centar, the enemy vessel remained motionless, as if it was trying to decide what to do. It turned, rotating itself, first along one axis, then another, reasons unknown, then returned to it's original orientation. As it waited, scanning, the first of the other ships came onto Adama's scanners. Both Byrne and Allen were pouring on the speed, making maximum use of the new anti-matter power systems. "What do you read as to life signs?" asked Adama. "Definitely something alive aboard," said Tigh. "But scanners cannot make out specifics. Either it is some kind of life process unknown to us, or something is interfering with our scanning systems." "Baltar's ship?" "Much the same, sadly," reported Tigh. Like the Humans, the Cylons had scanned the Hades Hole out of the enemy, and were continuing to do so. But, like their Human counterparts, were getting little in the way of meaningful returns, as to what sort of species was operating the vessel. "Athena, open a hail to it. Full Languatron, standard friendship message." "Aye, sir," she replied, brows furrowed a moment. After all, they hadn't been friendly so far. Why would they be now? Then again, as empty gestures went, it was as good as any other. Obviously, her father was going by the book. She opened the channel, and Adama addressed the intruder, identifying himself, as well as his ship, and declaring that they had only peaceful purposes. She waited, then repeated, but the alien vessel, aside from another concentrated scan of the Battlestar, made no reply. "Now what" asked Tigh, as they waited. As he spoke, the first of the other ships dropped out of lightspeed. The alien's scans at once swirled to sweep it, then about half a centon later, the second ship. Adama looked at the tactical plot. The enemy vessel was englobed, with himself, Baltar, the Viper and Raider squadrons, and both the Adelaide and Constellation cutting off any escape. The enemy was contained. But, could they hold them? Enemy surrounds. Must seek safety. Destroy enemy. Danger to budding. Protect budding. Exposed to danger. Danger to budding. Fight. Fight will endanger budding. Fight. Conflict. Flight. Conflict. Conflict. Enemy surrounds. Must seek safety. Destroy... "What are they waiting for?" asked Kerris, in the common room, aboard the Constellation. They were watching a screen-dump from the bridge, giving them the same view as the Captain. "They are doing exactly what they should be doing. Gauging the enemy," said Agis, the pilot. "Finding out what he's got." "I'd rather gouge the enemy. We know what they've got. What they can do. They should just attack!" "Kerris..." "No, Father, I won't be quiet!" snapped the younger man, looking at Kloss. "If these people really are on our side, they should attack that...thing!" He pointed towards the screen. "Don't you ever just shut up?" muttered one of the other survivors, a woman with a baby. "Well I don't see..." began Kerris. "Kerris! Just..." began Kloss, when Agis shouted. "Here we go!" The Otaligim ship had suddenly begun to move, on a line between the Colonial Fleet, and Baltar's BaseShip. It looked as if she were trying to escape. But as she did so, she fired, striking the Cylon vessel a glancing blow. Quickly, the BaseShip replied, cutting loose with one of her mega-pulsars. The alien shuddered visibly, and slowed, altering course yet again. "Power surges detected from intruder vessel," intoned a Centurion, in the BaseShip's Control Center. "Enemy deflection system still intact." "Degree of degradation?" asked Baltar. "Shield integrity down by three point zero one percent, by your command." "Pulsar ready," said the gunner. "Fire," ordered Baltar. The sound of the weapon discharging thrummed through the chamber, and they watched as Moray's gunners racked up a direct hit. The alien's shields flared into the visible, the Cylon weapon's energy sluicing off her protective envelope, then faded to invisibility. It turned, as if to face the BaseShip directly... Then it swerved again, as the forward batteries of the Galactica also opened fire. Scans showed that internally, power was being distributed about in new patterns, doubtless preparatory to firing. Then, she cut loose, a greenish beam lancing across space towards the Battlestar... Which suddenly wasn't there. The beam tore through now-empty space, as the Battlestar vanished... To reappear, swinging around from behind, as she dropped out from her small and convoluted hyper-jump. Main guns spat fire, as she buttoned the other, joined by fusillades from both Constellation and Adelaide. Baltar fired once more, and the behemoth's screens rippled and sparked like a fireworks display. Then, when the fire ceased... She was still there, seemingly safe behind her screens. "Lords of Kobol, what is it going to take?" muttered Baltar, in the Control Center. Mercifully, Command Centurion Moray did not answer, having, slowly and gradually, learned the difference between an actual request for data, and what Humans called "rhetorical" utterances. No sooner were the words out of Baltar's mouth, when a shot from the Otaligim connected, rocking the BaseShip. Something sparked somewhere, and the deck rumbled under his chair. Another shot slammed them, and he screamed for them to return fire. The BaseShip's screens fluttered for a moment, as the ship's systems struggled to keep power flowing where it was needed. Baltar tried to move away, to get out of the other's line of fire, but the BaseShip was less nimble than her Colonial counterpart, and the Otaligim seemed quick to pick up on this fact. It fired again, then again, just as the BaseShip loosed another blast of her own. With a wild crackling of power and the smell of burned circuits, a panel blew out, and one of the tactical displays went down. The enemy fired again... "Loss of deflection capability in grid sector four," said one of the Centurions. "Reroute emergency power to shield grid," ordered Moray. "By your command." Then, it fired again. The Century dropped out of lightspeed, just as the Otaligim seemed to have the BaseShip's number. Sparing only a moment's thought for the irony, Betz made for the two, and ordered his forward torpedo tubes to fire. One, then a second, spat from the Century, both scoring direct hits on the enemy. "She's stopped firing," said his XO. The explosion of the second shot had occurred directly over the weapon's emplacement that was hammering Baltar, on the very edge of the shield perimeter, and it had gone silent. Whether this was due to damage, or chance, was as yet unclear. As he opened fire with his main forward laser batteries, Betz saw the other ships doing the same, once more snagging the Otaligim vessel in a web of deadly power. Then, she suddenly put on a burst of speed, and ran from the battle site. All ships ceased fire, as the other moved away, to a point near a cluster of asteroids, sharing Gellis' orbit. "All ships, report status," ordered Adama. He read the reports with some relief. Damage from the hit to the Galactica was light, consisting of some kicked breakers and blown circuits in several compartments on her port side, including the bay. She would, however, be fully capable of carrying out all flight operations in less than two centars. The Adelaide had taken a hit, and her forward viewscreen and one sensor suite were down. The Constellation had one battery off-line, with intraship communications down. The Century seemed to have come through without a scratch, this time. But the BaseShip didn't look too good. Screens weak, and with four batteries down, she had taken some serious internal damage. One landing bay was off-line, and power was out to many secondary systems. They had come through their first engagement with the enemy, and lived to tell the tale. For her part, she was sitting there, watching. Waiting. Perhaps licking her wounds, and planning. What would she do next? Chapter Ten Rather than wait for the enemy to move first, Adama called a council of war, including the ship masters, and of course Baltar. They met in the Galactica's Ward Room, to discuss the situation. Next to the former Traitor of Humanity sat Command Centurion Moray. Across from him, at Byrne's request, sat Kloss and Themus, representing their people. After introductions, it was down to business. "According to information obtained during our time in Ziklagi space," said Nizaka, in her Human form, "peripheral regions of the Empire were devastated long ago. From what we have determined, it was by the same species as that aboard this alien vessel." "Cylon data banks also record a visit by these aliens," said Baltar, who then turned to Moray. The Command Centurion relayed the facts again, of how, when Cylon was still populated by an organic species, entire solar systems held by them had been devastated by a ship, or ships, closely matching this one. A holographic image was put up, showing a vessel which, at least superficially, was similar to the one they had just faced in battle. Much as Adama and Tigh had already theorized, Moray informed them that, the loss of countless millions of their population in massacre after massacre is what had motivated the organic Cylons to speed up the cybernetic augmentation of their society, and its empire, in order to prevent it's complete collapse. A process that would, in time, in combination with the paranoia the attacks had engendered, lead to the Thousand Yahren War with the Colonies. "What have we learned about the crew of that vessel?" asked Sheba, next to Apollo, looking at the image of the alien. For the moment, it was hiding among the Trojan asteroids that preceded the planet in it's orbit around it's sun, it's deflection screens down. Rich in metals, they might provide the aliens with needed resources for repairs. "Little, aside from the fact that they are an aggressive, insectoid species," replied Tigh. "We have been constantly scanning and rescanning their ship, but what we get tells us little, beyond the basics of her construction." "We too have been continuously scanning the alien," interjected Moray. "The life-form readings are indeterminate. No details are known with certainty." "Well, we have to get more information," said Apollo. "The way that machine can chew up anything we can send against it doesn't bode well." "And," added Moray, a bit surprisingly, "all data indicates that the alien will pursue, unless it is defeated. We cannot be safe unless it is destroyed." "A sound analysis, Command Centurion," said Adama, after considering a moment. "Thank you," said the Cylon, unexpectedly. "Well, as far as I can see," said Allen, "the only way to get the straight poop on these buggers is to somehow get inside their ship. It's a synch they aren't going to fax us a deck plan and invite us on over for some cold ones." "How?" asked Themus, trying to follow the Aussie's colorful speech via the Languatron. "From what you all have said, they attack and destroy any ship that moves close enough. Surely it would do so again." "That's right, mate," said Allen, "but all the data says they suck in and collect the wreckage. Now, the scans..." he moved the images to a close-up of the alien's hull, "show that her hull isn't made of any single kind of metal." The image showed hull plates that spectro'd out as a titanium/vanadium/beryllium alloy. Very hard, very resistant to the stresses of space travel. Nearby, large areas were of plain steel, of varying quality and thickness, and were configured differently. On the next image, there were even patches on the hull that showed large amounts of aluminum, and copper. "Now, I'm gonna say that as she moves through space, she adds to the ship, from whatever source is available, slapping it in any old way." "So, you think that if wreckage were placed in its way, like a worm on a hook," began Kloss. "Yeah. She'll bite. I'll bet me next beer on it." "You been drinking again, Ced?" "Not since this morning, Kev." "What do you propose?" asked Adama, of Allen. "We take that Cylon fighter that came back all busted up, and let her drift into view. Load her up with cameras and sensors." "And hope they swallow the bait," said Byrne. "Good idea, Ced. Glad I thought of it." He grinned at the Aussie, and Allen grinned back. "Why not put explosives aboard?" asked Baltar "Too much risk they might detect them," replied Allen. "I know, we don't know just how good their scanners are, but we have to assume that they are at least the equal of what we've got. Maybe better, and if we put a bomb in it, and they see it, they'll never open up, and we'll never have another chance to get through her shields." "What about eyes on the target?" asked Byrne. "No," said Adama. "We cannot ask anyone to volunteer. It would be a suicide mission." "Besides, they would be certain to detect a living being," said Apollo. "They would apprehend whoever it was at once." "What if the soldiers sent in were Cylons?" asked Moray. They all turned to look at him, most with surprise. After some subsequent discussion, it was decided. After all, as non-biological creatures, the Otaligim's scanners would not see the covert team as a threat. At least that was the hope. While Adama had no idea how such a move would be taken by the Centurions chosen, in light of their new-found and growing independence, he voiced no objections. He would leave it to the Cylons. Nizaka, however, would be a different matter. "And why not?" she asked, in Adama's quarters, after the council had broken up. "It would be suicide, Nizaka. I could not countenance it." "You countenanced Apollo and Starbuck's mission to penetrate a BaseShip." "That was different," he responded. "A known enemy, and we possessed pre-existing intelligence on their ship. We have none of that here. No. It would be suicide." "But I serve no vital purpose, here, Commander," said the Ziklagi. "And I could learn far more than a couple of...robots." She almost spat the word. On Ziklag, robotic intelligences, even minimal ones, were looked down on. With prejudice. "Granted, but the answer is still no. I will not risk a single life, on a mission that can be carried out by non-living operatives." And so it stood, as she walked, steaming, down the corridor. Sentimental Humans! They need to see that sometimes... Well, of course. Waiting. Waiting. Close to budding. Danger still close. Enemy threatens survival. Must defend and safely insure budding. Attack and pursue. Hide. Pursuit endangers budding. Defend. Attack. Attack risks budding. Conceal and defend. Attack anddefendbuddingattackbuddingin dangerdangerdanger.... Waitinginginging.... Down in the Galactica's Alpha Bay, the damaged Cylon fighter was being prepped, as best as it's condition permitted. The two "volunteers" Moray had found were aboard, and were, like their ship, fitted out with extra scanners and recorders. All was in readiness, when the hatch opened, and... "Identify," said the pilot, Gekus, looking at the Human entering. "Technician Humuhumunukunukuapua'a, from the Galactica science section," replied the newcomer. "We were not informed of any Humans on this mission," said the other Cylon, Tactus. "A last centon addition," replied the Human. "Surely Command Centurion Moray informed you?" "Negative. We have not had any new orders from the Command Centurion." "Well, I don't understand...but I can confirm them. Besides, we don't have time to waste, contacting him now, for confirmation of orders. That would be redundant. We need to launch. Are we ready to launch?" "Yes," said Gekus. There was clearance from Galactica control, and soon, they were shooting out the port, and into space. "Yes!" said the newcomer. To try and avoid being detected too quickly, the damaged Cylon moved out of the system, trying to keep both the planet, and the assembled warships, between her and the enemy vessel. Aided by all the ECM the others could pour out, she headed away, until she had crossed the sun's heliopause, then gradually arced back in towards the planets. As soon as the Fleet was on the screen, they cut power, letting momentum carry them forward. Now, they would wait, until they drifted into the Otaligim's sights. After cutting all thrust, one of the Cylons opened a valve, letting fuel leak out, along with dumping pieces of metallic wreckage. Hopefully... Gekus looked back once or twice, only minimally curious as to the presence of a Human on this mission. No one had informed them. For his part, the passenger appeared to currently be in the stand-by mode of operation Humans called "sleep". He turned back to the instruments, now set to passive mode only. They would be in visual range of the enemy vessel's position in just under four centars. He looked back again, wondering, fleetingly, what "sleep" was like, other than entirely unproductive. "Commander," said Tigh, on the bridge. "Cylon fighter now coming into visual range of the enemy, sir." "Give it to me here," replied Adama. On his screen, Adama could see the alien ship, from the point-of-view of the approaching Cylon. Zooming in, more detail became visible. Unidentifiable shapes and structures on the alien's hull, massive ports for the horrific weapons that had laid Gellis waste. Then... "Maximum magnification," he ordered suddenly, catching sight of something intriguing. On the hull, small sparks of light were visible. As the Raider drifted closer, the view became more detailed. "It's..." "A work crew," said Tigh, next to Adama. "Repairs?" He looked at the Commander. "Maybe we hurt them after all," said Adama. On the surface of the ship, near what looked like a gun port, several of the same sort of insectoid creatures they had seen before were busy, apparently at work on the ship, and without any environmental suits. The flashes came from some kind of torches or welders, being used to...what? "Let's hope so," said Tigh. "We need one of those," said Adama, a gleam coming into his eye. "Rigel?" "Sir?" "We're not a hundred percent certain of the maximum effective range," said Wilker, over the monitor. "We've run sims, but even with overload power from the new energy system..." "A simple yes or no," said Adama. "Rigel thinks we can. Can we?" "I think the chances are good, Commander," replied Wilker. "Better than ninety percent." "Very well. I want your best man on it, Doctor. Stand by for my signal." "Yes, sir." Wilker looked up from the monitor. "Hummer?" "Yes, Doctor?" "We are being scanned," said Gekus, inside the fighter. "Range to target?" asked Tactus. "Twenty-three microns, closing at one micron per six centons." "No hostile action?" "None." Gekus turned to regard their passenger... "Now!" said Adama, gesturing to Rigel, and speaking over the telecom at the same time. Rigel operated the controls system, and deep within the ship... On the outside of the Otaligim vessel, where several of the aliens were working furiously, one of them was suddenly enveloped with a swirling wash of light, and slowly vanished. The others seemed either not to notice, or not to care. "We have been seized," reported Tactus, as the damaged fighter lurched suddenly. The cockpit was awash with a strange radiance, and they were being pulled closer to the enemy ship. "Activate all scanning systems." "By your command." As the machinery began humming, the fighter changed orientation, until the Otaligim ship was dead ahead. With increasing speed, they were being drawn closer by the micron. The instruments showed that they had been scanned, but Tactus reported it was only a cursory sweep, lacking in detail. "By your command," said Tactus, indicating the view ahead. "Look at it, Commander," said Tigh, as the images from the Raider were relayed. The huge wall of metal that the ship had become was beginning to take on sharp details. Metal plates, welds, bolts and rivets, even what looked like a viewport. Closer and closer it drew, until one small spot began to open, wider and wider. "They're being taken inside, as we hoped," said Adama, watching as the beam towing the Cylon craft narrowed, and the fighter was pulled into what was clearly a huge landing bay of some sort. Much larger than either Colonial or Cylon constructs of similar type, it was as big or bigger than the hangars on planetside bases. Adama shook his head. The dimensions of this ship were truly unbelievable. "Commander," said Athena. Adama turned to her. "Picking up....it's gone now." She shook her head. "What, Athena?" "For a moment, it looked like a life reading. Human." "Human?" asked Adama, surprised. "Are you certain?" "No, Commander," she replied, shaking her head again. "It was fleeting, and there is a lot of interference from the alien vessel." "Well..." Adama considered a moment. "Keep scanning along those bands. Just in case." "Yes, Commander." "Sir," said Tigh. He pointed. The Cylon fighter had vanished into the maw of the alien, and the vast bay doors had closed. He could almost hear it clang. "May the Lords of Kobol keep them safe," Adama murmured, realizing the irony of his words. Regardless, they were gone. Chapter Eleven The Cylon fighter was set down, with an unceremonious thud, on the deck of the enemy ship. At once, both Centurions checked their weapons. "Are you armed?" Gekus asked their passenger. "Yes," came the reply. No sooner had the answer come, when several figures came into view, moving towards the fighter. All could see that they were insecton in appearance, and moved with a lumbering gait. Without words, the Centurions got up, and moved towards the hatch. Although it opened, the landing gear being in the up position left little space to escape. Until, thoughtfully, the aliens lifted the ship onto some sort of trolley or carriage, and it began to move. Not waiting for events, Gekus stepped down, onto the conveyance, and took in the situation. Without hesitation, he fired at one of the creatures, just as it turned to regard him. His shot struck it fair in the thorax, blowing the thing open in a flash of light and sparks. As it tumbled to the deck, the other two also emerged and fired, likewise disposing of the other aliens. A shot from Tactus rendered the carriage immobile. Hummer jumped down, onto the deck, and took in the scene. The bay was truly vast, bigger than any ship's bay he'd ever seen or heard of. Then he looked down at the dead Otaligim, the stench of their burned flesh acrid and vile. Surprisingly, each of the dead aliens was not just an insecton. Aside from the expected exoskeleton common to such creatures, covering parts of the cranium, as well as the thorax and limbs, were electronic and mechanical attachments. Wires and metal parts of as-yet-unknown function penetrated the bodies, and the "hand" of one was fitted with some device terminating in what scanned as electrical contact points. "What in..." "Caution," said Gekus. "More aliens are approaching." The Human looked up, to see more of the insectoid things, emerging from a hatch. One raised a limb, and a watery beam of light shot from it. Sparks flew from the Raider's hull, and they ducked. All three returned fire, and in short order, the newcomers lay in smoking heaps as well. "That was too easy," said the Human. "Agreed," replied Gekus. "Tactical analysis indicates..." He never got to finish. Abruptly, from another direction, more shots came their way. "Lords of Kobol," muttered Adama, in the security ward of LifeStation. "Insecton species of some sort," replied Doctor Salik, standing across the support tube from Adama. "But not one known to us, Commander. Deep DNA scan shows it to be totally new." "And...these?" Adama asked, indicating the myriad devices covering the alien's body. "Some sort of technological enhancements, sir. These," he indicated some small metallic plates, "acted like some sort of force-field generator, keeping them pressurized. These creatures can also store huge amounts of oxygen inside pockets within their exoskeleton." He indicated the other objects. "But as to what exactly they do..." Salik shrugged. Deciding that intelligence was vital, Adama had decided to put the matter transmission device to good use. Scans had shown the alien's screens to be down for the moment, so he had taken a chance. As he had hoped, the device had reached far enough to grab one of the creatures, from the hull of the alien ship. Once solidly aboard, it had been stunned by the security trooper, and brought here for analysis. It had a broad cranium, with large, faceted eyes, much like any insecton. It was slightly taller than the average Human, and the ends of it's two upper arms terminated in claw-like appendages. It's feet were booted, and it's exoskeleton was pierced at many points by the devices, or implants, or whatever, that covered it. Oddly enough, the creature itself had made no moves to escape or resist them. It twitched and moved from time to time, but made no coordinated motions, nor spoke. Scans showed that it's brain was in fact tiny, scarcely the size of Adama's little fingernail. "So, it has no...independent intelligence," he ventured. "I would say not, Commander," replied Salik. "Like most insectons, the individual member of the species or hive has no identity, no real, independent being or self-awareness. Only in the totality of the hive does it live and move. It has no other existence." "So, we cannot question it, or interrogate it in any way?" asked the Commander. "No, sir. With Dr. Wilker's assistance, we can examine these...devices, but that is all." "Do so, Doctor," said the Commander. "Whatever it takes." "Understood." From cover, they watched as more of the alien soldiers appeared. Several advanced upon the Colonial/Cylon redoubt, while others, a carriage or similar type conveyance in tow, gathered up the dead Otaligim. One by one, the electronic and mechanical parts were torn from the corpses, and they were all dumped unceremoniously in a heap on the cart. A shot ripped close to one of the Cylons, and it armor sparked. The other fired, killing another Otaligim, and soon it was a real firefight. The only organic member of the team slid down off the trolley, and hit the deck. Turning, they faced one of the aliens that had drawn close. Before the laser could be fired, sparks and smoke flew from the alien's back, and it fell in a mass of twitching death. Neither his laser, nor one of the Cylons', had fired. What the... Random shot. Must be. "Gekus?" yelled the Human, sparing a quick look back over their shoulder. "By your command." "Try and distract them. I'm going to try and find a control center or a bridge." "By your command." Laying down heavy fire towards the hatch from which the enemy troops had come, he ran towards another, dark opening. Making it in less than six microns, he dove through, at once pressing himself up against a bulkhead. He looked around, and saw vast machines, pipes, and unidentifiable equipment everywhere, seemingly laid out in no recognizable shipboard design. On the floor, rails ran, presumably to convey whatever was retrieved from the bay to...wherever. Running along the room, he came to another. The hatch opened, a bit surprisingly, and he was inside... What in... Gekus fired, killing yet another of the alien creatures. His Cylon mind was slightly surprised that it was so comparatively easy. These creatures, while armed, seemed to have no concern for their own safety, and advanced right into his withering fire. No subtilty, no apparent combat discipline or doctrine whatsoever. By his count, he had now killed or disabled seven of the creatures, yet their tactics did not change. They had seemingly learned nothing from the engagement. This made no sense. The Human had vanished, to find a control center. Obviously, the Colonial was exposing themselves to as much risk as he and Tactus were experiencing, so in no way was the detente being violated. Still, he wondered... A shot connected close to him, showering him with sparks and smoke. Invasion! Invasion! Unknown enemy has infiltrated the body. Eradicate! Eradicate! Budding must be protected at all costs! Destroy them! Destroy them! Invasion! Invasion! Unknown enemy... The Colonial had to jump out of the way, as a cart raced past, on the rails, and pressed against a bulkhead. It was piled high with the corpses of the dead aliens, but unattended. On a sudden inspiration, he jumped aboard, and let it take him deeper into the ship. "Commander," said Salik, over the commlink. "Yes?" "The alien, Commander. Something is happening." The cart slowed, arriving in a room filled with huge pipes, conduits, hoppers, and grills in the floor. It stopped, and the intruder jumped off. At once, other aliens appeared from a hatchway, and at once began offloading their deceased comrades. One of the apertures in the floor opened, and one of the dead aliens was tossed into it. He stepped back, and... CLANG! He gripped his weapon, but the aliens were slow to respond, which was puzzling. Then, while the rest continued their work, one detached from the rest, and moved towards him. He fired, and the alien went down. Almost at once, another emerged from the side, grabbing him by the wrists. The laser dropped, and it yanked at him with a strength that was unexpected. Nothing for it. Molecules and cells shifted, and with effort, the alien's grip was broken. With a sickening crack, one arm was ripped out of it's socket, and amidst a blast of sparks, it fell, twitching in i9t's death throes. Keeping up the momentum, the now-detached arm was wielded as a club, striking down and shattering the exoskeletons of the other Otaligim. As the last fell, it was kicked towards the gaping hole in the deck. The victor looked in... And saw the dead alien, floating in some kind of brightly-lit tank, or vat, of liquid. It stunk vilely, as hot vapors rose up from below, and they felt the need to wretch. Then, as they watched, the deceased alien began to dissolve, as slowly the soft tissues broke down, followed by the harder protective plates. They recycle their dead! I will wager all the botanical matter from the planets was reduced this way, too. That must be how they culture their food. Disgusting! I wonder if Jacobi...gods... Quickly recovering, they tossed the rest of the dead aliens into the horrid gunk, and turned. On the far side of the room, another hatch beckoned. It however did not open. There was no touch pad, no weight-sensitive panel. How in the... Of course! Moving to the cart where the dead had lain, a quick search turned up the electronic parts removed from the corpses before their disposal. Grabbing up a big handful, they were waved in front of the door. After what seemed an eternity, it beeped, and slid open. They sped into the new chamber, and looked around. "Cursed worm dung from the Pit!!!!!" Chapter Twelve "What happened?" demanded Adama, as he entered LifeStation. Several security people were in evidence, and the door to the Security Ward was open. The air was rife with the stench of laser fire and burned flesh. Thankfully, Salik had turned the blowers on; the room would be clear, shortly. "It suddenly came to life, sir," said MedTech Tone, indicating the fried and blasted alien on the floor. He was grimacing in pain. "I was just trying to get some readings on it's basic metabolism, when several of the electronic implants seemed to turn on. Flashing and beeping. It broke out of the tube, and tried to escape." "Did it speak at all?" "No, sir. It just looked around, then tried to escape the room. It tossed me aside, then I hit the alarm." "Cassie?" asked Adama. "He'll be okay," she replied, tending to Tone's broken left arm and dislocated scapula. "Lords, that thing must have been strong." "Sure was," replied Tone. "It was like being pounded down by a professional grappler." "I was just coming on watch, sir," said the guard. "As soon as I saw what was happening, I opened fire. It fell, but I wasn't taking any chances, Commander." They both looked down. The alien had been hit at least six times. "Good job, Kunz," said Adama. "Doctor Wilker?" "We still know very little, sir. It seems that the creature was in some sort of communication with the alien ship, by means of the electronic implants in it's body." "By means of the implants?" "Yes. After repeated scans, we finally detected a very low frequency radio pulse, coming from the implant in the alien's cranium. It was almost perfectly in sync with an incoming pulse." "Coming from?" "Presumably the alien ship, Commander," replied Wilker. "But how? I mean if the individual has no more intelligence than an insecton..." "As we said before, sir, the individual draws it's life and purpose from the totality of the hive. By means of these transponder pulses, we think that it was being directed by the hivemind, to try and learn more about us. Perhaps to try and destroy us. Several of the implants are scanning systems, after all." "Why now?" "Well, we did send a team in to recon the alien. Perhaps they have stirred something up, Commander," offered Tone, as Cassie finished her work. "Have we heard anything?" "Nothing since they were taken inside." It was gigantic. By far the largest chamber yet found inside the Otaligim ship. It also stank to high heaven, like a cross between a dumpster full of rotten vegetables, and a slaughterhouse in high summer. For a moment, he just stood there, slack-jawed, trying not to vomit, taking it all in. After a few microns, sense returned, and he ducked back into the shadows, such as they were. Everywhere, the aliens were moving about, carrying out their various mysterious and unfathomable tasks. Watching, he beheld one, enter from a side hatch, and extend one of it's middle limbs. The end was inserted into some kind of huge panel or console. Lights flashed and then more lights, followed by the alien withdrawing it, and moving away. All along one side of the huge chamber, were massive banks of electronic and mechanical equipment, none of it looking as though it matched, somehow. From somewhere, the sound of moving liquids, gurgling like water in a pipe, could be heard. But the other wall was the genuine revelation. From floor to ceiling, and stretching for close to a full hundred metrons, were row upon row of cylinders, arranged parallel to the floor, and stacked to the ceiling. All hexagonal in shape, some were open, others sealed, and all save a few glowed with a sickly radiance. As he watched, one opened, and an alien emerged, or rather slid, from inside. At once, it was taken "in hand" by others, and while lying upon a table, the process of implanting the electronic devices in it began. At the same time, others were taken, and slid into vacant cylinders, which were then sealed. "A hive. It is like an incubation chamber." As he watched, some of the aliens stepped into small half-tubes, and bit down on some kind of nozzle with their mandibles. At once, some sort of fluid began to flow. A quick scan showed it was nourishment. Some kind of liquefied fungus, which seemed to be what sustained these creatures. While trying to assimilate all this, and also decide what to do next, there was a noise. A soft scraping off to one side. Turning to face... They found a Colonial laser pistol shoved in it. Behind it was a face. A Human one. "Who in Hades Hole are you?" Flight Leader Gekus was in a quandary. After having taken down at least a dozen of the alien creatures, he had himself at last been hit by enemy fire. The first shot had done little, the second more so. Hurled back, his internal diagnostics indicated that his main EMA was damaged, and out of action, the immediate upshot of this being a complete "paralysis" of the legs. As his operating system attempted to reroute his internal systems, another shot connected, and his right arm was rendered useless. His optical scanner began to experience distortion. He heard his weapon drop to the floor, and within moments, several of the aliens appeared over him. He was aware of being carried off somewhere... "Halt! Halt in the Name of the Empire!" he tried to say, but his vocoder had gone off-line. He felt...what? Was this...was this fear? "Jacobi?" "I said who in Hades Hole are you?' repeated Jacobi, white-knuckled, laser ready to fire. "I'm from the Galactica. We are trying to find out everything we can about this ship." Jacobi did not look well. He was unshaven, his face bruised, his hair was disheveled, and he smelled awful. He was also shaking, and looked as if he had not eaten since his departure on patrol; skin sallow and eyes bright with some sort of fever. They were also bright with something else; he had the look of someone whose mental state was questionable. He kept looking around, starting in fear at every sound, and then turning back to look at his prisoner. "How'd you get here?" he asked, voice taut and edgy. "Answer me!" "We..." "I been dodging them for...I don't know. How long have I been here?" "You disappeared exactly..." "Do you know how long?" "I..." "They pulled my Viper in, and shot at me with some kind of energy weapon," he continued, not waiting for answers. "Even before my canopy was open. Maybe that's why I lived. Weakened it or something." "What happened to your..." "Woke up, on that cart. Just in time to keep from getting dumped down into that acid, or whatever it is. Fought off one of them. It went in instead of me, buggy bastard. Been hiding out, dodging them ever since." Jacobi stopped a moment, regarding his new companion. The look in his eyes was telling. This was someone with a tenuous hold on sanity. What in heaven's name had he experienced? "We..." "I killed a couple, after that. Stole some of their parts. Electronic. Got me through doors. Don't know why they haven't been able to find me. I'm too smart for them." He laughed, at it was not a good laugh. "Dumb insectons, I can outthink them. Yeah." "Have you eaten anything?" "Gotta keep moving. Can't let the things find me. Can't let her figure out...Huh?" Jacobi stopped, as if seeing his companion for the first time. There was a still-raw cut across his forehead, with blood crusted on it, and his uniform was torn in several places. "I said, have you eaten anything?" "Had an energy ration bar in my flight jacket. And a juice pack. No water. All there is around here is that muck they make. Had to drink the condensation off the pipes, then my own urine finally. Urine is like ambrosia next to that, I tell you." "Here." "Yeah," grunted Jacobi, grabbing the proffered food bar, and devouring it. As Jacobi rambled on, the aliens continued about their business. Raising a scanner to get a closer look, Jacobi's rescuer could see that inside many of the translucent cells were what were obviously developing ova. Others, emergent Otaligim, and still others, full-grown individuals. "Who the Hades Hole are you?" demanded Jacobi, suddenly, grabbing the other's arm, and turning them to face him. "I don't know you!" "I am...let me go!" Wriggling free: "I am from the Galactica. I told you. We came in on a reconnaissance mission. To try and gather information of these aliens." "Otaligim! Damn things are everywhere!" "What have you discovered? Please, time is critical." "They're bugs." "That does not help much. I..." "Thousands and thousands of them. The ship is full of these incubation chambers. There are more, in other sections. And all this equipment...stolen." "Stolen?" "Patched together from other ships I think. Writing I've never seen before. Yeah, it's them. They wiped out the Abelasotian homeworld hundreds of yahrens ago. Now they're back!" He looked directly into the other's eyes. "Back, I tell you! Heading towards the Colonies. Gotta stop them!" "They are very powerful. The Fleet..." "Attacked them. Yes, I know. I saw the attack, on a screen. Shields you can't get through. Weapons useless against them! Useless I tell you!" Jacobi had started to shout, grabbing and shaking the other's uniform. "They're headed for the Colonies! Don't you understand?" "Stop! Stop, you will bring them..." "We gotta stop 'em! Her. Yeah! She's the key! Maybe if we kill her, it just possibly...just might...Ahhhhhhhh!" Jacobi turned, seeing one of the aliens, moving directly towards him. Automatically, he fired, blowing it's head off. It fell in a smoking, stinking heap of charred pulp. He turned back... And screamed. "Damn! Just...just damn her!" shouted Adama, in his quarters, Apollo and Sheba his only audience. "I expressly forbade her..." "Father?" "Nizaka! The Ziklagi refugee. She requested permission to go with the Cylon crew on the infiltration mission, to the enemy vessel. I denied her request." "And now you can't find her?" asked Sheba. "Correct. I called her, but she does not respond. No one has seen her since before the Raider launched, but someone answering the description of Technician Hummer was seen near the Cylon fighter just before it launched." "Technician Hummer?" asked Sheba. "But he's..." "Precisely!" growled Adama. "He is currently in Doctor Wilker's lab, analyzing the technology from the alien corpse. Therefore..." He slammed his fist on his desk." "So, she slipped aboard the Cylon ship. But why?" asked Apollo. Technically, Nizaka wasn't a Colonial Warrior which meant she wasn't strictly under Adama's command. But his father felt responsible for every life in the Fleet, even an alien one. Maybe that was it? "She felt that her...ability would be of use in learning the secrets of the alien vessel. I told her I could not countenance her throwing her life away. She tried to insist, but I was firm." "Well, she's aboard now," said Sheba. "Any word from the mission?" "No. Nothing, since they were pulled inside her. And her shields are up again." Adama looked at the port. "Damn it!" Another Otaligim was closing in on Jacobi, as he struggled. He wasn't certain how, he wasn't even certain of his own sanity, but his newfound companion was now one of the enemy. He struggled with all the strength he could muster, but he was too weak to resist effectively. His weapon was knocked from his hand, and he screamed again. The approaching Otaligim stopped, then just as suddenly turned around and began to move away. As before, a "crew" appeared, and took away the dead one, presumably to meet the same fate as the others. With a strength that made a mockery of his struggles, Jacobi was dragged along, following the others, firmly in a grip of tylinium. He was pulled along, back into the recycling chamber, and roughly shoved away, into a corner. He landed hard against a bulkhead, and looked up as... As the Otaligim that had carried him moved up behind the first, itself busy with the dead one, and unceremoniously shoved it over the edge, into the tank. Then it straightened up, and slowly turned to look down at him. For a few microns it did not move, but just looked at him, with those frightening, multi-faceted eyes. Then, it moved closer, and extended one arm. "No! No, get away you fracking monster! Get..." But it nonetheless grabbed him, and pulled him to his feet. Then, equally overwhelming to his already fragile mind, the big insecton before him began to change, losing the hideous form and color of the alien, morphing down to a form that was fully Human in appearance. "It is alright," said Nizaka, in her form as "Sarah". "I am not one of them. I..." Jacobi screamed again. Chapter Thirteen "Any news?" Ayesha asked Baltar, as he reviewed the repairs to the BaseShip. As always, his crew was quick and efficient as they went about their duties. "Nothing," replied Baltar, his eyes darting from monitor to monitor. "There has been no signal of any sort since the fighter was taken inside the alien ship." "I hope they are alright," said Ayesha. Baltar looked at her. "Well, they serve loyally, Baltar. And we do need the information." "True," he replied, with something between a sniff and a snort. "And these Centurions are no longer just machines. They have become...something more. We owe them our lives in a way." "Yes, I suppose you are right, Ayesha," Baltar said non-committed. Personally, he really had no concern for the safety of the two Centurions that had undertaken the mission to penetrate the alien vessel. Like most Colonials, they were just machines to him, and, being Baltar, he wouldn't have cared if they had been flesh-and-blood. Hades Hole, all he'd ever really cared about was... "Of course I am, Baltar," she smiled at him. She opened her mouth to speak again, when something flashed on one of the screens. "What...? Jacobi fell to the deck, stunned by Nizaka. While she sympathized with the clearly demented Human, his shouts were a liability just now. She set him down in a dark corner, and hoping for the best, turned her attention to one of the control interfaces nearby. At first, it told her nothing. It was mostly just colored buttons, and such writing as there was was unknown to her. If she was to learn anything of value, she would need to look elsewhere. She scanned panel and circuit after panel and circuit, but nothing seemed of the slightest value. "Her, Jacobi had said. Who, or what, was her? As nearly as she could determine, these creatures were sexless. Merely drones, for carrying out whatever activities the hive deemed needful. Who... "Of course!" she said aloud, as it hit her. "Ova. Incubation chambers. What a fool not to see it at once! Now, if..." She stopped, as one of the monitors caught her eye. Although of unknown origin, the engineering schematic it showed was plain enough to anyone with a modicum of knowledge in the field. Power conduits, with their associated busses and relays, all seeming to run behind one of these bulkheads. While she thought it odd that such critical systems would be placed near a recycling facility, apparently the Otaligim had a different philosophy of shipbuilding. Or perhaps, cobbling their ships together from whatever was to hand, they didn't care. Either way, she was going to find a way to make use of it. She hoped. As she perused the alien machinery, she thought of the electronic implants. Holding one up, she searched for an interface, wherein the one with the metal contacts on one end, might fit. Of course, even if it did, would she even know what to do then? The plan for the power conduits led her back, into the vast incubation chamber, as she had dubbed it. Here, they were exposed, tucked into a narrow space between corners. Now, if she could just cut out the one with the heaviest load factor, perhaps... Xegex's Left Foot! A short distance to her left, was another console. She had to look twice at it, before she realized that it was Ziklagi! All the gods! It's an engineering subsystems monitor from a military ship! Damn, it is so old! As she studied it, she was confirmed in her opinion that the unit was indeed an antique, doubtless salvaged from some hapless Ziklagi vessel that had been unfortunate enough to have encountered the Otaligim long ago. By the Pit, it is a museum piece! What in the Pit are they using it for? Let me see...a Zeega-6 engineering subsystems monitor. And... Although it was obviously tribunal-rigged, with wires and cables coming and going at all angles, plus covered in grime and the gods knew what else, the basic flowchart for the energy moving through it was plain to see. She looked at the conduits heading up into the ceiling, and the indicators in the other chamber, and made some educated guesses. This subsystem did not control the incubation chamber, or life-support, or even monitor the flow of whatever vital substances were gurgling through the translucent pipes. She touched a few pads, the first of her race to do so in a very long time, and found that they responded. She tried again. Nothing happened. She touched another screen, bringing a schematic up to a larger size. Smiling, she traced down several circuits... "As Starbuck would say, a perfect pyramid, or nothing!" Bleep. Several lights flickered, and indicators flashed. Rumble. "Uh oh!" "Commander!" said Rigel, on the bridge. "Yes?" "Picking up a sudden fluctuation in power readings from the enemy vessel." "What sort? Is it preparing to fight?" "Unknown, sir, but this looks different from before." She sent the readings up to his station, and he studied them. For unknown reasons, it seemed that the enemy had dropped their deflection shields, or at least some of them. A large area of the ship, including the area where the Raider had been pulled into, was now naked to space. "Full scan of the area," ordered Adama. "Athena, try and contact the infiltration team." "Yes, Commander." "Yes!" said Nizaka, reaching for her commlink, as the readouts told her what she had hoped they would. The screens for this part of the huge vessel were down, at least for the moment. Doubtless, some kind of backup system would kick in, but for the moment... Thump. Crash. "Boarding party to Galactica, come in. I repeat, boarding party to Galactica, come in please." As she spoke, the power came back up, then went down again, as she re-entered the command into the system. She looked across the chamber, and one, then another, of the aliens was looking at her. She fired, taking down two of them, then retreating to the hatch. As it opened, she fired into the conduits. The laser easily penetrated the material, and sparks belched from the pipes. She fired again, destroying the conduits entirely, then with her last shot, directly into the wall of incubation cells. Then, the door closed, and she was back in the other room. "That...that sounded like Ni..." Athena began, clearly confused. "Athena, respond to the message," ordered Adama, anxious to cover his daughter's slip. She did so, but got no response. "More power fluctuations from the enemy ship, sir," said Rigel. "What the Hade Hole is going on over there?" said Adama. Looking at him, Tigh had no answer. Jacobi was moving, as Nizaka returned. He slowly stood up, and looked around, then at her. He was clearly, from the look in his eyes, barely holding on to his sanity. "Where..." "We have to go," she said, trying to gain and keep the initiative with him. "The power..." "What did you do to me?" He leveled his weapon at her, and she cursed herself that she hadn't relieved him of it. Of all the monumentally stupid... "Nothing. It was them," she lied. "We..." The hatchway opened, and one of the aliens began to enter. Before she could speak, Jacobi fired, killing the thing. It slumped in the half-open hatch. From the other chamber, smoke began rolling in. "Come on!" Nizaka shouted, as another Otaligim began to try and enter as well. She fired, then targeted more of the equipment. Panels sparked and exploded, and she pulled Jacobi with her, towards the opposite hatch. It opened obediently as she waved one of the devices in front of it's sensor, and they ran through it. As it closed, she fired again, destroying the sensor. "That will hold them momentarily. We must get back to the landing bay!" "Can we escape?" asked Jacobi, looking around. Without waiting for an answer, he fired into the ceiling, where pipes and conduits were tightly clustered. Both sparks and gunk erupted from them, as they ran towards the bay. As they went, Jacobi kept firing at anything that looked vulnerable or exposed. Lights began to fluctuate, and several more of the aliens went down. They ran into the bay... "Commander, I have them again," said Athena, looking at her father. "Give it to me." He listened, then called Wilker. As before, they would have to cut it very tightly. Invaded! Invaded! Hurt! Damaged! Must protect! Budding in danger! Many dying. Dying. Protect! Revenge! Kill! Kill invaders! Invaded! Invaded! Damaged! Must... "Here, hold this!" ordered Nizaka, as they stood in the center of the bay, close to the damaged Cylon fighter, one of the downed Centurions several metrons from it. Shot after shot was pumped into anything that looked remotely important, then into oncoming Otaligim. As one went down, a shot passed close to her, and she cried out in pain. "NOW!" she howled into her commlink, at the same moment tossing something into the Raider. As several Otaligim moved in for the kill, they faded from sight... And the bay erupted in noise and light. Chapter Fourteen "I have no idea how long it will last, Commander," said Nizaka, in the Ward Room being debriefed. She was bandaged, and looked generally awful. Interestingly enough her sustained injuries still in evidence in her present Human form. While Adama was still angry, he would save dealing with her until later. "But from the readouts, I found the main power trunk to that part of the ship's defensive grid. As near as I can tell, all systems, even vital ones, are just scattered haphazardly, all over the ship. It's been pasted together from whatever they can find, and integrated into a functioning whole." "Sounds like a bloody engineering nightmare, for something considered the scourge of the universe," said Allen. "Vulnerable as hell." "I agree, but perhaps the aliens do not think of these things as we would, Captain. In any event, I made use of it as best I could. What of Flight Sergeant Jacobi?" "He is in LifeStation, under sedation right now," said Adama. "He's been badly concussed, and was rambling so wildly, Doctor Salik thought it best. One of the damaged Centurions was also recovered, when you were transported back. So." "So," said Nizaka, inwardly shuddering. "These are mindless insectons, Commander. And they are incubating countless more, as you saw from the scans." She gestured towards the monitor. "But, like all hive species, they have a collective intelligence. And, to function in this way, they must have a...what do you call it..." "Queen," supplied Adama. "Yes. A Queen. The dominant female, the one who lays the eggs, and who integrates and controls the entire hive. In his ramblings, Jacobi spoke more than once of 'her'." "The Queen?" said Byrne. "No, she means his mother-in-law," Betz replied. "Of course, the Queen!" "You've met my mother-in-law?" asked Byrne, deadpan. "Yes, the Queen," Nizaka clarified, with an exasperated sigh. "He must have moved through a good deal of the vessel. I think he must have found, or at least has seen, the Queen Otaligim." "What do you propose?" asked Command Centurion Moray. "We cannot effectively fight the Otaligim vessel. Not without serious risk to ourselves, as we have seen. But, if we cannot do so from outside, it will have to be from the inside." "Inside,' said Adama. Not a question. "Yes. Go back inside, find the Queen, and kill her. From what I know of hive species, destroying the Queen will effectively destroy the hive." "She's right," said Betz. "It would." "But how do we find the Queen, in all that...maze?" asked Adama. "Where would we even start? That ship is bigger than any of ours. We could waste endless days searching, assuming we even had the leisure." "We take Jacobi with us," said Nizaka. "He found her once. Perhaps..." "Flight Sergeant Jacobi is in LifeStation, under heavy sedation, may I remind you," said Tigh. "His mental stability is, at best, questionable. On a mission..." "But he knows where to find her!" argued Nizaka. "Without him, we have scant chance." "Even if the Queen is found, the defenses are certain to be formidable," said Moray. "A large heavily armed team would be needed to breach them, and a large infiltration team reduces the chances of success." "Perhaps," said Nizaka, but still..." They argued back and forth, until it was clear that no one, really, had a plan. Then, they stopped, as Byrne began to laugh. Adama looked at him, brows furrowed in annoyance. "I've got it," said Byrne. "Staring us in the face." He looked to Adama. "How?" He frowned more, as Byrne held up his right hand, index finger cocked at an angle, and, smiling, began to wave his hand back and forth. "Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!" "Think of it," said Byrne, later in Wilker's lab. "These suckers are basically bugs, okay? Bigger and nastier than your average politician, uh, I mean cockroach, and with some major attitude, but bugs all the same. And when you have an infestation, what do you do?" "I understand," said Wilker, who had almost gotten lost in the Earthisms. "But can we really find an...insectonicide that will kill them all?" "Exactly. A big ole can of Raid, if you get my pun." Byrne looked around, grinning. Clearly they didn't. "Uh...okay. But it doesn't have to kill them all," replied Byrne. "All we need to do it scratch the Queen. We take her out, and the rest will fold like a bad poker hand on a Friday night." "You are certain?" asked Adama, shaking his head. "As certain as anything can be, in this situation, Commander. When I was a kid, I had a great uncle who kept bees. Uhh...what you call apions. If anything happened to the Queen, the hive didn't know what to do. That's our only hope, as far as I can see, in this situation. Once the Queen is toast, the hive will be vulnerable. No direction, no orders, if you will. No control, just chaos." He looked at data scrolling up a monitor. "Think of that thing out there, Commander, as a huge, vastly intelligent brain, made up of the tiny brains of maybe millions of individual members, all integrated into a single mind. The Queen is like the control center. It can think and compute and react faster than we mere Humans. But unlike us, it has only one thought, if you will, and it overrides everything else. To survive. That is it's only directive, and it can't be reasoned with, argued with, or persuaded, or talked out of it. And it will not, of it's own volition, ever stop. Unlike us, it has no sense of mercy or pity. You heard the report; they even recycle their own dead. No feelings, no sadness, no emotions as we understand them. It's all just survival, and Devil take the hindmost." "I understand. It's just..." "A suicide mission?" Byrne smiled. "Well, it was my idea, Commander. I haven't the moral right to ask someone else to take the risk. And this isn't like a typical mission, where we assign squadrons, and launch our fighters. Don't I wish. We gotta think outside the box on this one." "Sadly, I agree." Adama turned to Wilker. "Can it be done?" "Oh yes. Analysis of the dead alien's tissues shows many similarities with insecton species known to us back in the Colonies, Commander. According to the computron analysis, several of the most common insectonicides should prove effective against this species." "Then let's not waste time, Doctor. How fast can you synthesize a sufficient amount?" "Less than a centar, Commander." "Then get to it. Call me when you are ready." "Yes, Commander." "Why? Why you?" "Jen..." "Pop, why can't you just sit this one out?" The Byrnes looked at each other, and the former CAG wondered at the strength of motherless girls. "Why do you always have to be the one to leap into danger?" "It was my idea, Jen," he replied, moving closer. "Look, hon, we're in a bad scene here. This thing is gonna follow us, no matter where we go. They've already destroyed God-knows how many worlds. Billions, maybe trillions of people, wiped out. God knows how many more, before they're stopped. The Fleet isn't safe as long as..." "But why you? It's always..." "This from the girl who went off to a space station full of alien scum, gunning for pirates and killers." "That was different!" Jen retorted, a bit defensively. "Uh huh. And scrambled, or over-easy, it's all still eggs." "Pop!" "Look kid," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders, "It's the way I am. I've never been the sort to just sit things out comfortably. I chose a dangerous profession, and I can't just change that now. Heck, if I were different, you wouldn't even be here." "I've already lost Mom! I don't want to lose you too!" How many times, Byrne wondered briefly, had this very scene, perhaps even these very words, been played out since the beginning of warfare? Warriors, whether they wielded bronze spears, or flew advanced fighter craft, bidding their loved-ones goodbye, those left behind not wanting them to go. The tears, the pleading, the reassurances. Nothing ever really seemed to change, in the Human condition. "You won't. Now, I gotta..." He turned, as the door opened, and Sire Pelias entered. "Oh," said the young Councilman, clearly surprised at seeing Byrne here. "I didn't..." "It's okay, I'm just off." He smiled. "You two can rock on the porch without Dad listening in. Mmmm...let me rephrase that..." "Uh..." "Never mind," said Byrne, with a smile. He drew closer to Pelias. "Look after her....son. Got me?" "Yes, Captain. I..." "Right," said Byrne, slapping Pelias on the shoulder. "Oh, and Pelias? Knock her up, and you're toast!" He left, the door swooshing behind him. The Councilman watched him go, then looked to Jen. She was standing at the window, arms around herself, staring out towards the Otaligim ship. "Jena?" He put his hands on her shoulders. "I can't lose him," she whispered, whether to the stars or to him, he couldn't be sure. "I can't lose him too." Toast? "You sure this is enough?" asked Byrne, of the tank Wilker handed him. It was red, and slightly larger than a standard scuba tank back home. "No, but given all the unknowns about the alien ship, it'll have to do," replied the prickly scientist. He showed Byrne the simplified valve controls. "The tank is at full pressure. There's enough in there for a full ten centons continuous spray." "What is the stuff?" asked Allen. "You really want to know?" asked Wilker. "Well, I bombed in organic chemistry in school. Not really, Doc." He helped Byrne get into the harness for the tank. "Gotta say I wish I were going with ya, Kev. Hell's Bells, everything's riding on this mission." "Yeah, and Kalysha will have my skull for a chamber pot if anything happened to you." "You say that like it was a bad thing," teased Allen. "Oh, you mean it isn't?" "Well, you know what they say, Kev." "No. What do they say?" "Life's a bitch, mate," replied the Aussie, with a laugh. "Hey, watch it! You quit talking about the Bedpan from Baltimore like that, okay?" grinned Byrne. "Right. Sorry." "Excuse me, the..." asked Hummer, brows furrowed. Lords of Kobol! These Earthisms! "My ex," said Byrne. "According to our scanners, she's still got part of her shield grid down," reported Twilly, in the Galactica's matter transmitter room. "We're reading all kinds of power fluctuations over there." "How about the range?" asked Byrne. "On the edge, sir, but we can make it, if I use overload power on the main carrier." "Great." Byrne turned to look, as Jacobi, cleaned up and in a fresh uniform, entered, "Sarah" with him. He scowled, not wanting her along. In part, he still had serious "issues" with women in military situations, period. And she was a civilian "advisor", whatever the bloody hell that meant, and not even an actual member of the military. Maybe she was some kind of "spook". God knew. However, when one has their back to the wall, one adapted. She'd been aboard the alien ship, and knew more about it that anyone else, save Jacobi. Her presence was also Adama's condition for allowing him to carry out the mission personally. Face it Kev. You're just an old-fashioned chauvinist pig, and you're way too bloody old to change. He continued to glare at her, as he strapped on his weapon, and handed Jacobi his as well. Noticing, but declining to comment, on his obvious exclusion of her, Nizaka strapped on her own sidearm. Also without comment, she passed out the pulse-blast rifles. She paused, standing in front of Byrne. "Do you think you can handle this, Captain Byrne? After all, it is a very advanced piece of equipment, technically. Perhaps Earth is not..." "Do I think . . .?" he burst out incredulously. Then he noticed her slow shit-eating grin. She knew exactly what he'd been thinking about her, and she was giving it right back to him. "Give me the goddamned weapon." "Happy to," she acquiesced with a smile. Make that old-fashioned chauvinist patriarchalist sexist pig. "Ready?" asked Twilly. They all nodded. Byrne spared a look at Jacobi. Patched up as best as possible in so short a time, he looked okay, at least outwardly. But inside, inside his jangled brain... "Be careful," said Adama. "Oh we will, Commander," replied the Ziklagi. "That goes double for you, Kev," said Allen. "Although..." he smiled. "Yeah?" "If...I mean, should..." "No, Ced! You cannot have my pogo stick!" He mounted the platform, and looked at Twilly. "Okay, Twil. Let's rock and roll." "Uhh...rock..." "Just flip the switch," sighed Byrne. Chapter Fifteen Jacobi groaned, loudly, as soon as they were fully aboard the Otaligim vessel. Byrne could hardly blame him. Aside from the gorgeous, homey and welcoming d‚cor, immediately reminiscent of the Early Septic Tank Period, the place stank, like the crawlspace under the porch of one of his childhood homes, with rusty old pipes, garbage, and something that had crawled in and died, to give it that extra special something. "Okay, Jacobi, this is your party," he whispered, slipping on his breather mask. It cut the stench, and filtered out some of the toxicity in the air. "Let's get to the Queen, before the Federales show up." "The...what?" "Go!" They had appeared in almost exactly the same spot as they had been retrieved from, and quickly sought cover. After some looking about, vacantly Byrne thought, Jacobi finally seemed to recognize some vent grills, behind a stand of conduits. One was loose, and they had to go in. The tank of poison made it a tight fit, and Byrne had to doff it, and push it ahead of himself. "It appears to be some sort of venting system," said Nizaka, as they secured the grill behind them. While gentle, they could feel a steady flow of air, coming from the depths of the ship. It smelled as bad as the rest. "Imagine what it would smell like without them." Byrne shuddered at the thought. "Yeah," said Jacobi. "I had to duck up into one, to get away from one of their patrols. It slanted down, and I ended up in a huge room full of tanks and pipes." "Okay, lead the way," whispered Byrne. "Time's a-wasting." With a grunt, Jacobi began crawling along the vent, stopping occasionally to look down, through grills in the "floor". From time to time, they could see various crew passing along corridors, but the Otaligim seemed, at least for the moment, oblivious or unconcerned about their presence. "How far?" asked Nizaka, who was discovering that she had a mild case of odor-induced claustrophobia. "Not sure," said Jacobi. "I just kept moving. Couldn't let 'em find me again." "How far have we come?" asked Byrne, looking down at his scanner. "Not sure," replied Jacobi. "Maybe a hundred metrons, maybe a little more. Hard to tell inside this fracking tube." "Tell me about it," muttered Byrne. "Tigh?" asked Adama, on the bridge. "Are we still tracking them? "Yes, Commander. The subcutaneous tracers are working as expected. So far..." he looked at a monitor, "they have moved almost half a kilometron inside the enemy ship." "Scans?" "We're building up a fairly good picture of their ship's interior, as they progress. Engineer Twilly reports he still has a lock on them." "Good. We want to be able to pull them out at a moment's notice, if we need to. If not..." "Yes, Commander. We open fire on the gap in her screens." "Yes." "I think this must be where you slipped into the ducting," said Byrne, as they came to a multi-directional intersection. "How can you be certain?" asked Nizaka. "There's a snag from his uniform on the metal edge, and see the bloodstain?" He shone his illuminator on the rust-colored stain. Nizaka raised an eyebrow, as she considered. The vent widened here, and part of the junction was taken up with what seemed a housing for blower motors, and electrical distribution. The ducting had dipped "down, and was now almost level with one of the corridors. "No sign of any of them close by on the scanner," reported Nizaka. "Okay, so do we keep going through this, and which way, or do we use the corridor? Jacobi?" Intruders! Invasion! Infection! Enemy inside the hive! Must find and destroy! Enemy has destroyed many. Must destroy infection. Must destroy! Intruders! Invasion! Infection! Enemy inside... "I'm...not sure," replied Jacobi after a moment. "I..." "What?" "I was running, trying to stay alive inside this thing. Some of it's not...that clear." "Well, we better decide what to do, and fast," said Nizaka. "We have a problem." "Just one?" asked Byrne, view partly blocked by the cylinder. "What?" "The three or four aliens that just stopped in the corridor, and are looking up this way." "Oh, that problem." "Anything new to report?" asked Baltar, as he entered the Control Center of the BaseShip. All around him, things went on normally, as the ship's crew finished up the repairs. He read the damage control reports. Very good. Engines, defensive systems, and full flight operations capabilities had been restored. The ship would soon be fully combat worthy once more. "All scans of the enemy vessel unchanged. Nothing new to report, by your command," answered a Centurion. Baltar looked up from the Centurion, to the holographic of the tactical situation. The alien ship, in it's asteroidal redoubt, their own vessel, the Fleet. From the data scrolling up before him, it seemed as if nothing had changed aboard the alien ship, since the team had gone in. At least as far as they could scan. "Understood," replied Baltar. He looked over to where Command Centurion Moray was standing. While the Cylon face was never readable, there was something in the Cylon's stance, his posture, which somehow seemed out of place to Baltar. The Command Centurion was looking at the displays, apparently reviewing ship's status, with his arms crossed! Moray was holding himself, almost exactly like a Human would, back slightly bent as he looked upwards at the displays, and somehow, or so it seemed to Baltar, expressing what only sentient organic beings possessed. Emotions. By his very "body language", Moray was acting, perhaps unconsciously... Like a Human. Somehow, in what subtil way Baltar could not fathom, the Cylons, or at least one Cylon, had made another advance, a further step up the hill as it were. Lords of Kobol! What is really going inside that pile of circuits? What... "Commander Baltar, by your command," said another Centurion. "Yes?" "A change. Power fluctuations inside the alien vessel." "On screen," ordered Baltar, and with a smoothness of motion that was also new, Moray moved to join his CO. "Hey, I think ya got him," said Byrne, as Jacobi fired again and again into the smoldering corpse in front of them. In a quick move, they had opened fire on the approaching drones, through the metal vent grill, ripping them to shreds. Even after they had debarked the ducting, Jacobi had continued to fire. The drones had gone up in a spray of sparks and gore, as both electronic and organic components were destroyed. "Yeah," said Jacobi, kicking away one well-done chunk. "Damned fracking scum from Hades Hole! Worse than the fracking Ovions!" "Now which way?" asked Nizaka. "I don't know, ask them!" said Byrne, as two more drones came around a bend in the corridor. He raised his rifle, firing. One went up in flames, it's components sparking, the other fired, before going down under shots from Nizaka and Jacobi. "Jacobi!" "Left. I think." "You....you'd better, kid!" said Byrne, and they dodged left. Infection inside. Moving. Moving closer. Must defend. All attack infection. Infection inside. Moving. Moving.... They came up against a bulkhead, at the end of a corridor. In it were several hatchways, which scans showed, led to more chambers on the other side, or in the case of one, a lift. While they were deliberating, one of them opened, and several of the aliens stepped out. For a moment, they stopped, as if surprised somehow at seeing unknowns aboard. Byrne and the rest didn't give them a chance, and fired, this time with a blast of spray from the cylinder. After a micron or two, the Otaligim began to shake, then thrash, as they collapsed to the deck. Their electronic parts sparked and smoked, and after another few microns, they were still. "Life signs have ceased," said Nizaka, running a scanner over the bodies. "Doctor Wilker's toxin is effective against them. "Great," said Byrne, ripping the emitters from the corpses. "It works. Now, let's go find Big Momma." "What?" asked Nizaka. "The Queen." Byrne shook his head. As he stood up, more of the aliens appeared from a cross-corridor. These carried weapons in their pincers. "Byrne," shouted Nizaka, pointing. "Yeah. Awww...Cheese and rice, I hope one of you has jam in your pockets." "What?" cried Jacobi. "We're toast!" "I wish you would quit saying things like that," snarled Nizaka. "So sue me!" Chapter Sixteen In a blur, gas and laser fire riddled the enemy. Several of the Otaligim collapsed, but some returned fire as they did so. Byrne heard Jacobi cry out in pain, and himself felt a burning sensation in his right leg. After a few moments, the vapor cleared somewhat, and he see could Jacobi on the deck, clutching his gut. Nizaka seemed unhurt, bent over the injured Warrior. "You okay?" he asked her. "Why would you ask, when it is clear I am the only one of the three of us who has evaded injury? Or did you perhaps obtain a head injury that I see no other evidence of, Captain Byrne?" Whatever or whoever she was, she was still a woman! Like his Aunt Georgianne would say, a tongue that could clip a hedge! He grunted his reply, not caring if she understood the words. She quickly examined Jacobi. Blood was oozing between his fingers, his face a rictus of pain. Moving deftly, she pulled a hypo from her medkit, and shot Jacobi full of whatever it was. Then, with a laser sealer, she stopped the bleeding. For the moment. "How bad?" "A fragment from one of the exploding pipes," she replied, gesturing to an area behind them hit by the exchange of fire. A chunk of metal had been blown clear, ricocheted, and hit Jacobi. "This is just for the bleeding and pain." "Internal damage?" "Oh right, let me check my portable hospital. I think I may have a surgical suite in there." "Can it. We need..." He broke off as another of the aliens appeared. He fired, killing it, but there was an explosion behind it, as one of his shots connected with something. For a moment, the lights flickered. Yeah. "What are you doing?" she asked, as he stood up. He was checking the setting on his rifle, and then aimed directly into whatever he'd hit before. "Distracting them," he replied, and fired. After a few shots, something exploded, followed by wafts of smoke and sparks. He looked around for more, and fired into one of the half-open hatchways. The lift. After a few shots, it vanished...plunging to whatever in the depths of the ship awaited it. "They'll have to send teams to check things out and do repairs. That with all the ones they have working on the ship already..." "Excellent," she replied. "Jacobi, how do you feel?" He grunted, and she had to lean close. "Well?" asked Byrne. "He asked me to get my knee off his chest. Jacobi? How..." "LIKE....I've been run through by a rusty... piece of metal," he grunted, as he worked to get to his feet. "I would not recommend you trying to..." "We don't have the luxury," he groaned, and hefted his pistol. "We have to....complete the mission." "But..." "Never mind," said Byrne, motioning them out of the way of a huge conduit. It read as carrying electrical trunks and circuits. Once well back, he ripped into it, and the casing cracked open. His rifle made short work of the delicate stuff inside, and soon the corridor was filled with smoke and sparks, as circuits were cut, or blew out, all over. "Good thinking, sir," said Jacobi, firing into a conduit as well. It ruptured like a split melon, and a micron or two later, the bulkhead behind it exploded. "Okay, let's haul ass," said Byrne. "C'mon, Ass," Nizaka replied, putting an arm around Jacobi and supporting him as, and they fled down the corridor. She just hoped it was the right one. "Commander," said Rigel, "picking up a massive power disturbance aboard the enemy vessel." She transferred to his station. "Several of her systems seem to be going on and off-line." "I wonder..." ventured Tigh. "They've certainly set something in motion, it would seem," said Adama. He requested real-time scan data from the BaseShip, and the two correlated almost one for one. Something was ripping the guts out of the enemy vessel, or at least trying to. He just hoped, when all was said and done, that it would be enough. A thought shared by Byrne, deep inside the Otaligim ship. As they went, they fired into anything that looked remotely delicate or important., trying to cause as much internal damage to the ship as possible. The test of the idea came when several of the aliens approached, from around a corner, then stopped. Instead of firing, they changed direction, heading off God knew where. A few moments later, they saw more, these loaded down with what looked like it might be repair equipment. For good measure, Nizaka and he shot them down as well. "Any idea how much further?" asked Nizaka. "We...we should be there by now," said Jacobi, leaning heavily upon her. "We're close." "How can you be sure?" demanded Byrne. "This whole damned ship is one big..." "The...the smell," breathed Jacobi, obviously in distress from his wound. "The smell?" asked Nizaka. "Yeah. The...Queen...the air around her smells different. Sickly sweet. Smell it?" Nizaka took a deep sniff. Yes, she had to admit, it was somewhat sweeter than before, with an astringent quality, but she had been wearing the filter mask much of the time, as well as immersed in this...garbage. If it were not for Byrne's presence, she could shift to something with vastly more sensitive olfactory... "Okay," said Byrne, scanning. He scanned all the power conduits and piping within range. "It looks like everything is more coherent now. It's all leading this way." He pointed. "Yeah, smell it?" said Jacobi. Byrne had to admit, the composition of the air had changed, and something containing huge amounts of sucrose and glucose was in the air. "Come on!" Infection continues. Danger more. Cannot stop repair. Must bud. Must stop invaders. Conflict. Conflict. Inf.... "Oh my God," whispered Byrne, as they came around another corner. Here, two huge blast doors stood, flanked by massive pipes, with more overhead, disappearing into whatever lay beyond. The doors looked to be made of thick, heavy steel, or some similar alloy, and were guarded. Or had been. Once in sight, the guards, of a type bigger and more powerfully built than any they had seen so far, which stood at the entrance, brandishing weapons of extreme ugliness, opened fire. But not soon enough. Before that, Byrne had crossed in front of them, and drawn their attention. Once done, Nizaka had tossed an anti-personnel grenade towards them. The resulting explosion left Otaligim guts and fluids and parts splattered all over the opposite bulkhead. For good measure, they sprayed fire down the corridor. "Neutralized," said Byrne, as the smoke began to clear. "I think we even got the roaches." "But there will be more. Now?" "We knock," said Byrne, and attached another solonite charge to the door. Nizaka followed. It blew with satisfying pyrotechnics, and they looked... HERE! HERE! INFECTION HERE! DEFEND! DEFEND! ALL DEFEND! DEFEND DEFENDDEFENDDEFENDDEFENDDEFENDDEFEND........... "Commander Baltar." "Yes, Moray?" "A change in the enemy, sir." Moray waved a hand, and one scan of the Otaligim ship expanded. Where a crew of the aliens had been working on the hull, busily repairing the battle damage, they were now still. Each of the aliens had stopped, and were still as statues, as if... As if what? Why would they suddenly... "I see, Moray." Even as he spoke, they drones began to move again. But it was not to resume repairs. They were moving back inside the ship. "What the Lords..." muttered Baltar. "Yellow alert, Moray." "By your command." "My God!" said Byrne, as he peered through the vapors. The blast doors had opened into a large room, filled floor to ceiling with pipes and consoles and God knew what. Some of them were "manned" by various drones, each of which they shot down in short order. But in the center of the room... "The Queen," hissed Jacobi. In a huge vat, sealed away from them by a transparent shield of some sort, was, or rather sat, the Otaligim Queen. "She" was larger than any other of the breed, more than three times the size of the average Human. Like the rest, she had multiple limbs, and huge, faceted eyes. Unlike them, she had no visible exoskeleton, no sign of wings, and was, so it seemed, completely unprotected by nature. Her tank was filled about half-way up with some kind of multi-colored liquid, which filled the entire room with a sickly sweet stench almost as overpowering as the vile sewer-smell of the rest of the ship. Byrne at once felt the urge to vomit. From above, descended banks of wires, and tubing of various thicknesses, all, said the scanner, filled with fluids, or carrying electrical power and data. Most of these were physically connected to the Queen. Behind her, they saw a drone, moving quickly away, carrying some kind of small object, dark and cylindrical. "It is...an egg!" announced Nizaka, scanning. "She is laying her eggs!" "We've got to kill her!" wheezed Jacobi. As he spoke, the huge alien seemed to rise up, and "looked" at them, with huge, unblinking eyes, the fluids around her beginning to boil with increased agitation, slimes of various colors dripping off of her. Suddenly, from her sides, issued several tentacles, long and barbed. "My God," said Byrne again. "It's like a horror movie!" "Well, what are we waiting for?" said Nizaka. "I'm back!" yelled Jacobi, raising his weapon. "Captain on the bridge!" said Keel, aboard the Adelaide. Allen swiftly took his seat. "Max, how's everything down there?" "Everything's at one-hundred, Captain. Whatever, whenever, just ask for it." "I may hold ya to that, Max. Stand by." "Aye, sir." "Helm, lay in an intercept course for the Otaligim ship." "Sir?" "You deaf? Do it!" "Sir." "C'mon, Kev, old buddy. Give me something." The Colonials blasted away at the transparency separating them from the Otaligim Queen, hosing it with laser fire. Smoke and sparks erupted from the barrier... And seemed to have done little. They ceased fire, after their weapons got seriously hot, and looked. Scarred and blackened in places it might be, but the barrier was still up. "What in God's name is that thing made of?" yelled Byrne. "Unknown," replied Nizaka. "The scanner does not recognize the alloy." "What do we do now? I think we kinda pissed her off." "No, really?" wheezed Jacobi, one arm across his middle. Reaching shakily into his pack, he drew another solonite charge. "Back." "Are you serious?" scoffed Bryne. "You're doubled over in pain from a gut shot, your skull has been used for a soccer ball, and you think we're going to stand back and let you . . ." Jacobi hurled the charge as best he could. He smiled at Byrne. "So sue me." "Get down!" Nizaka yelled. They complied, and the charge exploded, nearly deafening them with it's roar. While their ears were still ringing, Byrne and Nizaka heard a cry of pain. It was Jacobi, in the claws of an Otaligim, come to the defense of it's Queen. They raised their weapons to fire, but Jacobi still has a pistol in one hand. Unbelievably, he raised it to the alien's face, and fired point blank, blowing the thing's head open, and it toppled. Byrne rushed to the younger man's aid, pulling the dead alien off of him, then looked up, as more enemy approached. He ducked back, firing into them, until his pistol buzzed. Low power pack. He slid another charge into the weapon, and resumed fire. He took one down, then a shot from one of them singed close, burning his left arm and the side of his face. He dropped his gun, seeing the Otaligim fall also, and then heard a scream. It was Nizaka, and she had good reason to. Solonite and continuous fire had, at last, breached the transparent shielding surrounding the Otaligim Queen. The transparency was split by a black, widening crack, with fluids spewing through onto the deck. Byrne tried to reach her, but slipped in the muck. He reached for his pistol, but found it missing. He looked at the Queen... "Oh shit!" The Queen was now to her full height, limbs and tentacles outstretched, and was looking directly at him. She lashed out with one, but he rolled away barely in time. Having no weapons left, he reached down, and withdrew his Tactical Boot Knife, and with a move born of desperation, hurled it at her. The Queen made a horrid screeching sound, as the knife struck home, burying itself in her throat, just below the mandible. A disgusting orangeish-purple fluid oozed out, running down her body. She clutched at it with one of her pincers, yanking it free. She tossed it away, and looked directly at him, then lashed out with her tentacles once more. Byrne rolled, colliding with Jacobi. A part of his mind wondered if the young man was still alive, but was given no chance to ascertain this, for the Queen struck out again. He again avoided her, but she got hold of Jacobi, lifting him up over her head. For a moment, the Queen held him there, almost seeming to gloat, if that were possible. Nizaka reared up out of the glop, and fired. The laser hit the monstrous thing in the side, and she dropped Jacobi onto the deck. Nizaka pulled the trigger again... Nothing. She swore. She looked around desperately for something, then decided she had no choice. Byrne tried to rise, when he felt something big and hard against his ankle. He looked down. It was the tank of insectonicide they had brought. Maybe... He grabbed it, despite the pain in his arm, and lifted it out of the muck. Damned sonofabitch! It was nearly empty! Somehow, the valve had been damaged, and all the stuff had leaked out! He shook it, hearing a slosh of whatever was left. Maybe... Raising up, he looked at the Otaligim Queen, whose attention for the moment seemed to have been diverted. Off to his right, a large form was moving, just staying out of the Queen's reach. What in God's Name... He shook his head, and looked back at the cylinder. With a hard swing, he smacked it against the deck, breaking off the valve control. At once, some of the poison began to run out. "Here ya go," he snarled, hefting the cylinder, and hurling it at the Queen, right through the broken shield. It landed in her "tub" with a splash. "Bon app‚tit, Bug Butt!" The Queen turned her horrid gaze on him, then down at the cylinder, then... With a sound like overstressed metal ripping, the Queen "screamed". At once, she began to thrash, the muscles under her skin spasming uncontrollably. She tortioned and twisted, ripping tubes and wires from her. "DIE, BITCH!" screamed Byrne, as the poison began to work. The Queen thrashed violently, her tentacles flailing about her, at last collapsing back into her vat. She vomited hideous gunk, and more attachments ripped away in her agony. Overhead, something sparked, as another cable was ripped free. The lights in the room failed, then blazed back. Across the chamber, an entire console erupted in sparks and smoke, then began to burn. Other Otaligim, rushing to their Queen's defense stopped in their tracks, some falling to the deck, others just remaining motionless. "Let us get out of here!" Byrne heard Nizaka shout, grabbing him by the arm. "Wait! Jacobi..." "Forget him! He is dead! We must go." "You don't leave a man behind!" "Do not be a fool!" she screamed, as he hefted Jacobi in a fireman's carry. "WE..." "I've got him! Let's go!" They ran from the burning chamber, even as another wall of machinery exploded, part of the ceiling collapsing. The Queen herself had now ceased to move, her body smoking, as huge back-currents of power surged through it, tearing her apart. As they ran down the way they had come, lights were failing, and various Otaligim were either lying on the decks, or moving around aimlessly. Behind them, another massive blast tore the Queen's chamber apart, as the entire deck lifted up, shredding and crushing everything in it. "Commander!" said Rigel. "The alien ship!" "My God, Commander," said Tigh, as they watched. The Otaligim vessel was... "Tearing itself apart," said Baltar, watching, next to Moray. As they watched, the alien vessel began to shake, maneuvering thrusters firing in wild and uncontrolled patterns. The huge bay opened, then closed again, and her shields went up, then down, then up again. Several of her weapons fired randomly, and the lights on her hull flickered on and off, then... "She's going up," said Allen, watching as a plume of light and debris shot from her hull. Gigantic hunks of metal blew out into space, followed by countless Otaligim bodies. "Helm! Now!" "Sir." "Fire control?" "Ready." "Max!" "Ready, sir!" "What the Hades Hole is he doing?" asked Baltar, as they watched a ship make for the dying Otaligim. The enemy ship had begun to move, as her engines fired uncontrollably. She surged out of the asteroids, directly towards the planet. Then, she began to spin as more thrusters fired. And another ship screamed close... Instead of the air vents, they just ran in the general direction they had come, a task made more difficult by the ship's gravity fluctuating, and cutting out entirely, more than once. "By stopping for him..." Nizaka tried to say. "Would you like me to put him back?" "Gods above and below! Why do you H..." "Shut the hell up! I did it." "It was fool..." she began, but he was ignoring her. His attention seemed fixed for the moment on a cart or pallet of equipment. Byrne uttered one of his Human curses, and picked up something from the stack. "What, now you are stopping for souveniers?" she bellowed. "Park it, Babe," he shot back, stuffing something she couldn't see into his satchel. She was about to reply, nastily, when a section of ceiling came down in front of them, blocking the corridor. With no choice, they changed direction. Hoping it would be the right one. Right before the lights went out completely. And the gravity. And the floor. Chapter Seventeen "Look at it!" said Themus, watching on a screen, in one of the Battlestar's Rejuvenation Centers. Around him were the survivors of Gellis. Next to him were Agis, and Kloss, with others scattered around the room. "Yeah!" said Agis, waving a fist in the air. "They did it!" On screen, the Otaligim ship was manifestly in it's death throes. Once more, the gigantic bay doors began to open, belching orange flame and debris into space, followed moments later by huge chunks of hull hurled away by more explosions within. A long, sinuous gap began to open in her hull, as the various melded sections started to unzip from each other. A bright line showed the energies within, then more garbage was blown out into the cold void. "No one could have survived that," breathed Tigh, as they watched the alien ship break up. "Byrne and Jacobi..." Adama just shook his head. "Oh my Lords!" said someone. Baltar had to shield his eyes, as the Otaligim ship's engines, or power core, or main fuel bunkers, or whatever it used, finally breached. In a flash like a small nova, the entire vessel was consumed in a boiling bright mass of light, eating up everything around it. Baltar actually cheered as the alien was destroyed, oblivious to the stares from his crew. Aboard the Galactica, they also cheered, as the horrific vessel was erased from the universe. For a few moments, various instruments went blank, as vast amounts of energy poured out of the explosion, then slowly, things settled down. The Gellians were also cheering, joyous at the demise of the thing that had laid waste their world. "If only..." began Adama, when a voice crackled over the speaker. "Galactica, come in. Adelaide here. Come in." "It's incredible," said Adama, in LifeStation. "That anyone could possibly survive." "You'll get no arguments from me," said Salik, as he checked the readings on Byrne. "I just wish it could have been a hundred percent." Adama nodded, looking over to where Jacobi lay, a sheet over him. Despite his terrible injuries, the young Warrior had hung on almost to the end, expiring, aboard the Adelaide, only centons after their rescue. "Hey, is my timing great, or what?" said Allen, next to Byrne. "Swooped right in there, and beamed you guys right out. Piece of cake milk run." "For once, yeah," shrugged Byrne. "Not like that time on Guam." "Hey, that wasn't my fault," insisted Allen, holding up a hand and shaking his head. "It was that SP. Besides, my energizer wasn't...functional on Guam." "Well, I'm just glad your weapon's officer was as nimble as the transport guy." "What else do you expect, from a ship run by me, anyway? I decided a nice load of torpedoes as we sped away couldn't hurt. At least not hurt us." "Well, in any case..." "I am sorry," said Salik, breaking into their conversation. "Jacobi. His internal injuries were just too extensive, Captain Byrne. Bleeding. Fractures. And a raging infection, from the alien bacteria. It finally tipped him over. Maybe, if we'd been able to reach him sooner..." "I understand, Doc. Nobody bats a thousand. Sometimes..." He shrugged, looking down at the deceased Warrior. Somehow, despite all his injuries, Jacobi had a look of peace about him, now. Bloody hell, he sure deserved it, Byrne decided, after being mentally traumatized, then shot, crushed, and finally almost gutted by the enemy. "Captain?" asked Adama. "He deserves a medal. Hell, a whole chest full," said Byrne, eyes fixed on the body. "We couldn't have completed the mission, without him, Commander. Without his sacrifice. He refused to quit, even when he knew he wasn't going to make it. He's one hell of a hero. I'll make sure that's made very clear in my after-action report." "And his service record, too." Adama looked from Byrne, down to the body. "Academician Sarah tells me that you risked yourself, to bring him home." "Of course." He looked at Adama. "It's part of our military tradition, Commander. You do not leave a man behind. Ever. Alive or dead." "I see. You'll have to excuse Academician Sarah. She's...from a different background entirely." "So I guessed." He turned, as the hatchway opened. It was Genesis, racing in like a runaway horse. Before he could breath, she had her arms around him, her relief obvious. "Hey, hey!" "Oh Pop! I heard you were back safe! I was so worried! You made it!" "Obviously. C'mon, Kid. Careful crashing into your walking-wounded wreck of a parent." "Ah..." "Hey! You ever doubt your old man was gonna make it?" "Well...yeah. Some." "Ah! To the quick! Such confidence from my offspring!" All through the debriefing, Byrne couldn't help wondering. For a brief moment, he would have sworn he had seen the Otaligim Queen, struggling with another creature. Big, hulking, and seemingly quite strong, it had been on the periphery of his vision, his attention admittedly being largely elsewhere at the time. Then, it had been gone. Yeah, it could have been stress, shock, all the crap he'd been breathing.... But it still bugged the hell out of him. "Sarah" for her part gave a concise, meticulously detailed report of the mission, although, sadly, her own scanner had been lost in the fray. Much to his non-surprise, she did lodge a protest, at Byrne stopping to rescue a man manifestly dying, if not already dead, and thus creating an additional hazard to their own safety. Adama noted it, but said little. "We've been able to download and decipher most of the data in the processors that were brought back," said Wilker, to Adama. "It seems these creatures had quite a history." "Go on." "As near as we can determine, they once lived on a planet, location unknown. They lived in separate hives, not unlike separate nations, which fought each other constantly. Each hive is intelligent and sentient, and committed to survival. They used pheromones and chemicals to communicate and control their members, and when they began to develop technology, it was used to make control easier. Then, at some point, their world was attacked, by whom is not clear, and largely destroyed. The surviving hives infested, or hijacked, the aliens ships, and headed off into space, each hive it's own ship, and vice versa. They cruise the universe, seeking food and materials to maintain and expand their hive-ships. Each race they encounter is considered an enemy, and attacked. Even one as totally non-threatening to them as the Gellians. Then, when the ship gets to a certain size, a new Queen is hatched, and she, along with a few drones, move off on their own. Like apions or other insectons, swarming, and founding new colonies." "I see," said Adama. "And this ship was close to...swarming." "Yes, Commander," said Nizaka. "Those were definitely eggs we saw, and incubation chambers. That ship was on the verge of a swarm." "Then thank God we got it when we did," said Byrne. "All the universe needs is more of those things." Now, with the ships repaired, and ready to resume the journey once more, what of the survivors? As they watched their savaged planet from orbit, many options were discussed. Given that huge areas were already devastated, and their civilization essentially wiped out, Adama offered them an opportunity to join the Fleet on it's journey to Earth. Medical and genetic tests showed that these people were, as he suspected, an offshoot of the Kobollian race, though from which Tribe was not yet certain. Adama had no doubt that it was the Thirteenth. Understandably, they were loathe, despite all, to just up and abandon the only home their civilization knew. Adama understood perfectly, recalling well the wrenching feelings the night of the Holocaust, and the ugly emotions, as he made the decision to leave, and abandon what remained of the Colonies. These folks, despite being more primitive, felt much the same. Home was home, and they had no wish to surrender it. They would stay, it was decided, and Adama, along with the science staff, worked to help them make the best of a rotten situation. Despite earlier simulations, the massive radion fallout from the destruction of their cities would not be as all-encompassing as originally predicted. The planet's wind systems would, for good or ill, carry more of the radion out to sea, where heavy, localized precipitation would remove most of it from the atmosphere. Just how horrible this would be for the oceanic ecosystems was anyone's guess, but the new sims indicated that some once-heavily populated and fertile areas might be habitable again, if only just, in under twenty-five yahrens, although the site of the annihilated cities themselves would remain "hot" for many generations to come, perhaps longer. Scans also showed a small, virtually uninhabited region, on one of the equator-straddling continents, that looked good. Largely untouched rain forests, savannah-like terrain, and abundant mineral resources. Wind patterns would carry almost all the radion somewhere else, and the region was well-watered, fertile, and ranged from tropical to temperate. Or, they could drop the survivors on some nearby, habitable world, and they could start over. "We stay!" announced Kloss, after they had taken a vote. "This is our home." "Very well," said Adama. "Looks a lot like home," said Byrne, as they helped the survivors unload their supplies from a shuttle. Realizing the incredible hardships that lay ahead for them, Adama had agreed to a transfer of technology. In return for minerals mined, and usable food plants collected, the Gellians were getting a big jump on the future. In addition to seed and livestock, much of it culled from their own world, along with some salvaged fuel, aircraft, and other machinery, they would be getting things only dreamed of in their "science-fiction literature". Computers, cellular communications technology, lasers, translated texts on everything from physics to chemistry to agronomy to medicine, and equipment to both drill and build. Even the Cylons, much to Adama's surprise, had "donated" several tons of their excellent megacrete building compound, normally used for the fast construction of planet-side bunkers and installations. Once a site was selected, the subsurface scanned, and the streets and lots laid out on a graph, the first building began going up; a medical clinic, and very welcome it was. "Yeah, it does," said Allen, watching from the shuttle hatch, as an airstrip was bulldozed, about a mile or so away, and noise wafted from the newly-inaugurated mill. "Makes me want to get home all the sooner, Kev." "You and me both, Ced." He looked up as Cassie walked by, with Kalysha. "How goes it?" "Well, we've gotten our first patients," she replied, jerking a thumb towards the clinic, currently consisting of one rising brick wall, a corner, and a tarp over the rest. "One new baby, one broken leg. I just hope this sticks. Medical tech almost a thousand yahrens ahead of them." "What about other survivors?"asked Allen. "Any signs anybody else made it?" "Both Adama and Baltar have been scanning the planet from pole to pole. We've located several more groups of survivors, and Kloss is extending the invitation to them to join this colony. They've got a radio station already set up, to try and contact more people. Thank the Lords one group turned out to have some doctors in it." "I wouldn't worry, Cassie. They're a tough lot," said Allen, shaking his head. "They'll make it." "Oh I agree. Just don't suggest they call this place Botany Bay, okay?" grinned Byrne. Allen snarled back at him, muttering something unkind about Yanks, and American place names. "It would be interesting," said Kalysha, sniffing dismissively at both of them, "to see what this new start will look like in a hundred years time." "Yeah, it would," said Byrne, pulling on a pallet of supplies. A few yards away, deep in conversation with Themus, were "Sarah", and some members of the Council. Something weird about her. Chapter Eighteen Time to get going. Repairs completed, supplies stowed, fuel bunkers full, the ships of the Colonial Fleet were once again ready to resume their journey. Goodbyes had been said, and the survivors of Gellis seemed well on their way to rebuilding their devastated civilization. Already, with the help of the mineral ship's scanners, rich deposits of nickel, cupric, argentum, and a huge upthrust of banded iron formation, had been located near the site of their city New Gellia, and the place was starting to look like a developer's dream. "I thought you'd like to know, Commander, that our new school is now open," said Kloss, on the vid channel from below. "I think Themus is in his element." "A born teacher, it would seem," said Adama. "Oh he is, believe me. Ours is a debt that can never be repaid, Commander Adama. You have saved an entire race from being wiped out." "Just work to build a civilization as just and as noble as possible, Administrator Kloss, and that will be payment enough," replied Adama. "Well, with all this wondrous technology, we at least have a fighting chance. Computers, weather satellites, color televis...I mean scanners." He chuckled, shaking his head. "I thought things like this existed only in books and children's fables." "The universe is a wondrous and never-ending fascination, Administrator. One day, I hope, your people can at last reach the stars, and then we can meet once more." "Would that I could live to see it," replied Kloss. "A wish we both share, Administrator. And, again, let me extend my thanks, for permitting us to bury Flight Sergeant Jacobi on your world. His will stated that, if there were a body, that he wanted to be buried on a planet. A real, living world." "It certainly is poor payment for his heroism and valor, Commander. We are pleased that he should rest in our soil. We've named the new airstrip in his honor, poor payment as that is. Once more, extend my compliments and condolences to his loved ones." "I shall, Administrator." Late that night, as Gellis fell ever further behind the Fleet, Byrne sat up, in his quarters. While "Sarah's" scanner had been lost in the fight in the Queen's chamber, his had somehow managed to remain strapped to his leg. He reviewed the scans, over and over, including the few seconds of data he hadn't appended to his after-action report. He kept telling himself it was a glitch, some kind of data artifact. There was no way he was seeing what he was seeing, unless there had been yet another sub-variety of Otaligim creature aboard that ship. It was big, bulkier than the average Human, and dark in color. The images were poor, blurred badly, and this was about as good as it was going to get, but, just for an instant, it looked as if, the space a moment before occupied by Academician Sarah, was momentarily filled by... Something else. Something decidedly not Human. If he'd had one second. One more blasted second, to get something clear. Then, maybe... "Oh come on, Byrne," he said aloud to himself. "Keep some perspective. Just a banged-around scanner. Crud on the lens. That's all." He shut things off, got up, and headed for his bunk. Slowly, winding down, he felt sleep creep up on him. Yeah, just a messed up piece of equipment. Like Hell. That was close. Byrne nearly saw you. Far too close. Just as on the RB-33 station. Too close! In her own quarters, Nizaka stood, in her natural form, watching the stars slowly move, and the ships of the Fleet behind her. Her brief shift to another form, in order to fight off the Otaligim Queen, had not gone unnoticed by Byrne, of that she was certain. Yet, so far as she knew, he had said nothing. From the way he had looked at her, however, during the debriefing, and at other times since, she was certain he knew. Knew she wasn't all that she seemed. Unlike the wrecked Cylons who had, albeit briefly, seen her in more than one form, during transit to the Otaligim ship, in her attempt to confuse any alien bioscans. Thank the gods that you have no scanner for Byrne to see. What to do? How to deal with him? There was a time, she reflected, when she would have known precisely how to deal with such a threat. Knew, and had done so, more than once. It would, after all, be quite simple. Find the right moment, and with her unique talent, it would be done, with no one the wiser. And that would make you no better than Xekash, or Korax, or any of the rest of them. The very Pit worms who enslaved you, degraded you, murdered your family... And if you are exposed? A whole ship filled with beings with no little reason to hate your kind. What chance would you have, then? Barbarians! Uncultured louts! What in The Pit do... You owe them virtually everything, akfsh! You owe them everything. Do not forget that. The gods will do what they will, regardless. When will you learn this? Can you not hear them laughing, Nizaka? She sighed, and turned away from the window. Aboard the BaseShip, Command Centurion Moray was also deep in "thought", of a sort. On duty while Commander Baltar was in the stand-by mode of operation that Humans called sleep, he pondered events just past. He particularly pondered the recovered remains of the two Centurions, Gekus and Tactus, that had gone on the mission to infiltrate the enemy vessel. The first had been recovered, so Captain Byrne had informed him, when the infiltration team aboard the fighter had been transported back, the second, only a battered head, had been found on a carriage stacked with equipment salvaged from the Cylon fighter, to be used at some point, presumably, by the Otaligim, in the systems aboard their vessel. During their escape from the enemy ship, the Human had seen, and retrieved it. Afterwards, both Centurions, one a battered wreck and the other only a head, were returned by them to the BaseShip. Why? Byrne had said that it was because of the possibility that one or both of the broken-down Centurions might have acquired information on the Otaligim that could be of use in any future encounter, and so he had retrieved the head, so that any potential data within it's memory circuits could be downloaded and studied. The same held true for the more complete remains of Gekus. On the surface, this of course made sense, at least to a Cylon mind. Yet... Yet, somehow, it did not entirely satisfy Moray. Cylons had, traditionally, not seen rescuing fallen or missing comrades as a priority, since they could be replaced in virtually any number required. Only if there was a potential tactical advantage to be gained, or intelligence to be acquired, was the effort made. Yet, this Human had risked serious injury or even death, to retrieve and return to their fellows the remains of two Centurions. Two out of thousands aboard. As soon as suitable spare parts were collected or fabricated, the two would be reassembled and reactivated, and returned to duty if possible. Their information, if any, would be stored along with other data, in the BaseShip's vast computer banks, to be consulted, whenever it might be of need. Still... Why did the Colonials save them? Humans always had reasons that were beyond sense or reckoning, or so it often seemed to Moray. Perhaps he should consult Commander Baltar, or the female Ayesha, for further data and clarification. Even as he pondered this, he still wondered what had motivated him, upon receiving the two fallen Centurions from Byrne, to utter the Human phrase: "Thank you." Why? Why? Far, far away, Gellis' sun was just a spot behind it, only slightly larger than the other stars, the faint light of it reflecting off the hull. It wasn't large, no bigger than a scout ship, but it contained all that was needed to protect and keep it's occupants safe. Food. Shields. Weapons. The hull was scarred and blackened by explosion, but those within neither knew, nor cared. The three young Otaligim, and the new Queen, had other things with which to concern themselves. Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last Battlestar, Galactica, leads a rag-tag fugitive fleet, on a lonely quest. A shining planet, known as Earth. (Cue dramatic music.)